


3 Shots Over Ice

by perropascal, StarlightStarwrites



Category: The Equalizer (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Reader, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everything will be fine, F/M, Oh My God, all aboard the dave york train, and he is going to work for the mob, at a coffee shop, but its fine, dave york is a nice murderer, dave york is going to fall in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 54,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perropascal/pseuds/perropascal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightStarwrites/pseuds/StarlightStarwrites
Summary: As manager of a popular coffee shop in Brooklyn, you’ve been able to do well enough for yourself–the apartment, the friends, the job. But there is one thing that waits in the shadows of your life. You have successfully kept yourself at a distance from the other business your bosses run until the appearance of a hitman with a charming smile upturns everything. Maybe being involved in a mob isn’t so bad. Or maybe it is.
Relationships: Dave York/You
Comments: 44
Kudos: 61





	1. The Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a normal thursday night leads to an interesting introduction.

⁌♡⁍

It was just another unassuming Thursday night. The days have been progressively getting colder and darker, a depressing change when at least half your shift you were limited to the fluorescent lights of the shop. You took comfort in the fact that Halloween was just around the corner, and the seasonal holidays may just be enough to boost your spirits. The front window looks out to the park across the street, but at this hour, you can see nothing beyond the street lamp that casts shadows through the fog. You look back down at your phone as you lean over the counter next to the cash register and tap your fingers along with the music playing softly in the background before quickly glancing at the few customers that remain in the shop.

It was almost closing time, and there was little left for you to do but clean up after the two still sitting in the corner and lock up. Of course, you did need to wait until the boss gave you the all-clear, that other business dealings were done for the day and you could close. You go back to your phone and swipe left on the picture of a man holding a large fish a little too suggestively. The door chimes, suggesting that someone had entered the building, but you don’t glance up from your phone. You reason that no one would want to order coffee this late on a Thursday night, plus you had already shut off the espresso machine, so they were out of luck if they wanted one of your signature drinks. They were here to see the boss, obviously, and most of his men never bothered to stop and talk to you anyway.

You squint and hold the phone closer, trying to decide if the man in the photos is cute enough to tempt you to swipe right. Your finger hovers over the screen as you tilt your head at the picture and bite your lip. No. You swipe left. You hear someone clearing their throat and you glance up.

To your utter surprise, you meet a pair of dark brown eyes attached to a man wearing a huge grin.

“Any chance I could order a drink?”

You set your phone down and put on your best customer service smile.

“Well, unless I’m mistaken this is a coffee shop,” you wink at him as you walk over to the register. He meets your gaze, not once glancing at the menu above. “What’ll it be, sir?”

“Three shots over ice, heavy on the ice. And throw a sprinkle of cinnamon on top,” he says with a smugness that has become recognizable only to you. Your head jerks up to the man. He certainly didn’t look like one of them, but you have been surprised before. You look at him for a moment too long as you consider him. “Did I get that right, sweetheart?”

“Can I get a name for this?” You shake your head as you grab a large cup.

“Dave.”

You had done this a million times before. But for some reason, this man set you on edge.

You knew the types that would come in and order this drink. They almost always dressed in black, sometimes even a ridiculously expensive suit. Their eyes often looked through you, held an empty gaze, a stance that radiated an air of ‘don’t mess with me.’ They were here for a job. They came, they went. You feared them for a reason you knew. This man, however, shared almost none of their traits.

“Dave” wore a plain grey tee under a worn leather jacket and jeans. He leaned against the counter as if he were actually waiting for his drink, looked at you with a small quirk of his lips. He seemed like a regular customer. You wouldn’t have believed he was capable if it wasn’t for something dark simmering in his eyes. Between your years of customer service and your time working at this shop, you had learned the importance of reading people. And with the added motivation of losing more than your job, you had gotten very good at it.

“Oh, I’ll need to go grab something from the back. Can you hold on for a moment?”

Dave just gives you a lazy nod, because he knew the drill.

You shuffle behind the counter, taking one last glance at him before ducking in back. He has a dangerous look to him as he scans the shop. You shake your head and make your way to the boss’s door and knock lightly. You hear him yell for you to come in.

“Hey Mr. DeNetti, you have a Dave asking for you.”

“Oh! Fantastic!” Tony, your boss, claps his hands in front of him and smiles. He looks up at you as he starts to stand and shuffle a pile of papers and a few photos before stuffing them in a file. “Right on time too. Give him whatever he wants, I’ll be right out.”

You just nod and shut the door as you make your way back out to the lobby. Dave is still casually leaning on the counter looking almost bored with his surroundings. As soon as he sees you he breaks out in a wide grin.

“Everything alright?”

“Of course! You know I will bring your drink out if you wanna take a seat at that table over there? Did you wanna change your order? It’s on the house tonight Mr…?”

“York. Why don’t you surprise me with whatever you think I’ll like.” He winks at you, and you smile in response. He’s not the first man to flirt with you, nor even the first to flirt with you in the last couple of hours. But he is the first man today that hasn’t immediately annoyed you. Despite the fact that you know the danger that surrounds him, there’s something in the way he holds himself, in his gaze that you...don’t hate.

“I can bring you something warm, or I can bring you something cold if you like, Mr. York.”

“Please, call me Dave. And like I said, surprise me.” He raps his knuckles on the counter and smiles at you before making his way to the corner table.

You figure since it was already late and getting cold outside you would serve him something hot. But now to surprise him...

You knew his profession if he was coming to see your boss, but something in the way he acted made you feel comfortable enough to be yourself. You usually were, but when people came in for the bosses, you were nothing more than pleasant and let them be. Dave, on the other hand, outright invited you to surprise him and was much more friendly than any contacts you had spoken to before now. So you grab your pitcher and whip open the fridge, biting your lip as you grab out the necessary ingredients. After a minute of steaming and mixing, you come up with a great drink to surprise him with.

While you’re waiting, you see the other two customers get up and leave for the door. You wish them a good night before grabbing the key from the drawer. Dave still sits quietly at his table, phone in front of him, but he watches the interaction. You feel his eyes follow you as you walk past him to the door and lock it. Thankfully they left no trash, and all it takes is a pass of your rag across the table to clean up.

You hear the familiar click of the steamer, and you return to the counter, allowing yourself a glance back at Dave when you pass him again.

“It’ll just be a moment more,” you say, not wanting to keep him waiting too long.

He nods in response, a little smile still on his face. After you slip behind the bar, you look up and see Dave still staring in your direction, not taking his eyes off your figure. You smile in his direction as you top it with a very generous helping of the caramel sauce and lid it.

You sweep around the bar and proudly place the drink in front of him with a smirk.

“Enjoy your drink, Mr. York.” You don’t make eye contact with him as you move away from the table. You look up and see your boss exiting from the back office. He nods in your direction and you know what that means.

“Why don’t you make sure everything is all set in the back?” Tony gives you a quick pat on the back, and you give him a smile as you make your way into the back.

You figure you have about five minutes to kill. These meetings never take long. So as soon as you make your way into the back, you slump onto the closest box and pull out your phone to continue your search. You’re close enough to the door that you can see the two men exchanging pleasantries and begin their conversation. You have a good enough view of the men that you will see when Dave gets up to leave, and you can quickly grab your stuff and lock up the shop so you can finally leave.

Dave reseats himself once your boss joins him at the table, and you see Tony put down a file between them. Dave reaches for the drink first, taking a sip as he listens to what Tony says. His eyes widen for a moment as he coughs into the cup, but he recovers quickly. You can’t decide whether to laugh at his reaction or hide before he can see you.

You decide to do neither as you stare down at your phone on the table with wide eyes, busying yourself with moving the cleaned dishes from the rack into a cabinet. You’re certain he looked at you, but by the time you look up again, he’s in deep conversation with your boss.

As predicted a quick four minutes pass and you see Dave rise from his place and give Tony a firm handshake before making his way towards the exit. You shrug on your jacket, grab your purse and throw it over your shoulder.

“All good back there, Tony!” You throw him a double thumbs up. “I’ll go ahead and lock up after Mr. York here. Have a good night, boss!”

You jingle the keys in your hand as you make your way to the front door. You smile at Dave as you flip the lock and push the door.

“After you, Mr. York.” You dip your head and motion for him to walk out the door. He considers you for a brief moment before smiling coyly and walking out the door. You reach over and switch the two front lights off making the shop appear empty, even though Tony and others would be conducting business late into the night. You slam the door close and put the key in the door, the entire time acutely aware of Dave’s gaze following your every move.

“I distinctly remember telling you to call me Dave.”

“And I’m on the clock until this door is locked, Mr. York.” You feel the key click in place and pull the handle roughly a few times before turning in place and smiling at him. “I hope you enjoyed your drink, Dave. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

You turn on your heels and start to make your way down the sidewalk.

“Yeah, about that drink….the thing is,” he quickly catches up to you, and you stop for him. “Your surprise drink sucked.”

“Dave,” you put your hand over your heart faking offense. “You have hurt my feelings, sir.” You see him side-eye you, and you smile good-naturedly. “How about I promise to make it up to you next time?”

He smiles at you before leaning back against a sleek black Audi parked on the street. “You can make it up to me if you put actual coffee in my coffee, and not just sugar.”

You wink at him before turning your back as you keep moving toward home. You tuck your keys in your pocket and stretch your arms out taking in the fresh air as you practically skip down the darkened street.

You hear the click of his car unlocking before he calls out to you again. “You’re….walking home?”

There is a strange almost-genuine concern in the way he says it that makes you stop dead and turn on your heels and stare at him with a bewildered expression.

“And just who the fuck do you think you are?” You throw him a confused laugh over your shoulder.

He takes a step towards you, away from the car.

“This is a bad neighborhood. I wouldn’t want something to happen to a pretty girl like you.” His concern seems to melt away, and instead, a smirk twists on his face instead of his furrowed brows he gave you before. You want to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, Dave. I am sure a guy like you has my best intentions at heart.” You want to keep walking, but now you feel you shouldn’t turn your back on him.

He takes another step forward.

“What do you know about a guy like me?” He’s not smirking now, instead genuinely curious. You know more about him than maybe you should, he can tell that. But he still comes off as trying to flirt, and you’re reassured that he’s harmless.

To you. For now.

“Enough,” you shoot back, shrugging. It’s said plainly, not accusatory. His eyes roam you up and down for a moment, and he accepts your answer. You nod your goodnight, and he returns it.

You turn quickly and trot across the street, not turning back to check Dave’s reaction or if he’s entered his car or not. You enter the park, walk under a street lamp, and pass a well-worn bench. It’s quiet here, enough that you can hear the start of his car, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You know reasonably, there is nothing for you to worry about. Dave was brought in for a reason, a reason you don’t know nor would you ever. Your bosses know not to mix businesses, you being the closest thing to a bridge between the two. You let out a little laugh as you walk past the pond. You never question the other interesting customers that come asking for bosses. Once you leave the shop for the night you never consider them again. So why were you still thinking about Dave?

You don’t feel the same trepidation with him that seems to come with just being in their presence. He wasn’t ugly, that likely helped, but he seemed like a regular guy. You could joke with him, flirt with him if for a moment. Besides, apparently, he drove an Audi. It was a nice ride.

As if that was a good enough judge of character.

It was an interesting mix of feelings to process - part of you didn’t really care about him one way or the other, part of you looked forward to seeing him again, but one thing is certain: you’ve interacted with enough people who have been contractually hired by your bosses to know that Dave is bad news.

⁌♡⁍


	2. 2 - the walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you’re forced to work late when an unexpected guest shows up.

⁌♡⁍

Working Saturday nights sucked. You don’t want to be here. You could be out with friends. Better yet, you could be home, doing nothing. Watching Netflix, eating pizza, drinking wine straight from the bottle. It’s the Saturday night you’ve been wishing for three weeks in a row now. 

Of course, the weekly delivery day was the day you would be stuck alone for most of the afternoon and in charge of the shop. Two of your co-workers had just decided to not show up, leaving you to take the brunt of the work. You’ve spent the last four hours in back, and now it was after close and you _still_ had to finish the unload and then reorganize. You blow some stray hairs out of your face as you pull the last few boxes off the pallet in the alley and into the shop. And now...you can unload some more. You raise your hands a little and wave them at the stack of boxes. Yay.

Your complaints to Tony hadn’t gone unheard. He promised he would make it up to you with some big surprise. You had a feeling it had something to do with a big wad of cash, and you weren’t going to complain about that, but it still sucked. You let out a frustrated groan as you push the box further into the back room. 

“Looks like you could use some help with that,” a low voice says from behind you. 

You whirl around. Dave York leans against the ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign on the door out to the dining room, hair slightly tousled and wearing the same leather jacket that stretches across his shoulders. Your surprise turns to irritation when you see the way he just stands there watching you. 

“No, Mr. York, this is _exactly_ how I planned on spending my Saturday evening, thanks.” 

“Then I guess I won’t offer my help.” 

“Well, good. Because I wouldn’t accept it. _Even_ if you offered to move these boxes into that room.” You gesture slightly with a tilt of your head, hoping he takes the hint and not offense.

He points to the box at your feet, and you nod shyly. He doesn’t say anything as he effortlessly picks up both boxes and moves them into the storage room. You pat the countertop and he sets them down. You let yourself smile in his direction before you reach for the boxes.

“What are you doing here Mr. York? I thought Frank closed the shop early tonight for one of his private meetings.” 

“Lucky for you, I was invited to that meeting.”

“Mmhmm, yeah, lucky me.” You exaggeratedly roll your eyes at him as you start to unpack the boxes, carefully opening them before unloading the large bags of coffee and espresso beans. You try not to pay too much attention to the pair of eyes watching your every move.

“You know, I don’t think I got the privilege of knowing your name the last time I was here.” Dave leans casually against the wall with his arms crossed, smiling at you in a way that makes him look at least five years younger than you think he is. You dramatically throw your hands down on the counter and look at him with feigned surprise.

“Mr. York, don’t tell me you hit your head and forgot how to read,” your hand comes up to cover the nameplate you still wear. “Or are you just that bad at your job?”

“It’s my job to know your name?”

“Is it not in your job description to be _aware of your surroundings?_ Isn’t that why’d they hire you?” He looks at you. You can tell he is thinking something over in his head like there is a question just hanging there, on the tip of his tongue. You smile and remove your hand, and point at your name with a smirk. “We good then, Mr. York?”

“How many times am I going to have to ask you to call me Dave.”

“Well, unfortunately, _Mr. York_ , bosses’ rules. Our loyal customers are to be treated with the utmost respect at all times.” You put air quotes around the last part. He is still standing there watching you as you continue to unpack the second box. You try and just focus on the task, but you feel flushed under his gaze. Eventually, you glance in his direction, and he continues to lean casually on the doorframe with his arms crossed, staring as if he was trying to figure you out. If he were someone else, it would make you feel uncomfortable. If he hadn’t spoken to you and teased you and helped you, you would have gone to Tony. The curious part of you wants to stare back and figure _him_ out, if it weren’t for that you still have a job to do and it might give him the wrong idea. He finally uncrosses his arms and takes a step closer. 

“I believe you owe me a drink.”

You freeze with your hands still in the box. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You stand up straight and glare at him with narrowed eyes.

“What happened to treating your loyal customers with respect?” His expression changes, lips quirking, and he tilts his head at your strong reaction. You scowl at him and cross your arms angrily in front of you. It must be enough to get him to stand down because he finally pulls off the door and holds up his hands in placation. “Okay, okay. Raincheck on the drink. How about you give me your number, and we call it even?”

This is hardly the first time a customer has tried to get your number. Ironically, it was only yesterday someone had asked you for the same. But you had a rule at this particular establishment; you would not mix work and pleasure. Especially considering the type of people Tony and Frank employed were not the type of people that you would ever want to get mixed up with. You didn’t have to know specifics to understand that. You take a big breath and open your mouth to give him the heart-breaking news. But he takes another step forward. 

“I know this will come across as creepy, but I know you’re single.” He places his hands on top of the table across from you, leaning on one hip as he looks at you. He’s smug, and you don’t like it. You’re not certain you know how he knows, you don’t keep your dating life a secret--half of your coworkers already know, and the other half barely know you. Even considering that, you can’t help but wonder.

“You’re right, Mr. York. That does come across as extremely creepy.” You fix him with a look, hoping that even if you have joked with him about silly things before this, you won’t tolerate perverts.

“Well, I figure most women in relationships don’t openly flaunt dating apps on their phone to strangers.” 

He looks at you with raised brows, no longer smug but almost accusing. You remember your first interaction--you hadn’t even looked up from your phone when he came up to you. You had been on a quest for a good piece of ass that night, and although you failed, Dave York had apparently spotted you happily hunting on your phone. 

“You were _not_ supposed to see that,” you say with a wince. You look him up and down, now fully embarrassed. You didn’t care that he knew you were single, no. But actively looking for a hook up in front of someone you hadn’t even met? That seemed a little low.

“Oh, I wasn’t? I thought I was supposed to be aware of my surroundings, sweetheart?” 

He was just doing this now to rile you up. You knew it. You hate the little smirk he wears, how he tries to look at you innocently despite it. 

“Shut...up…” It’s a pathetic attempt to regain any dignity you still had in this conversation. He takes it well, laughing at you as you try to distract yourself by taking the product to the shelves, but he’s definitely got you at a disadvantage.

You’re about to attempt to tell him off, let him know that it’s never going to happen when another man walks into the back. Both your and Dave’s attention is drawn to him, and you recognize him. He comes in occasionally, never strikes up a conversation, but is polite.

You nod to him, and he returns it before giving Dave a once over. His expression never changes, and then he disappears through the door down into the basement. Dave watches him go before turning back to you with a raised brow.

“You know him?” You smile a little at the possessive way he says it.

“Only by association. You know, the meeting will probably be starting soon. Russo is always early.”

“Russo?” Now he turns to you fully, curious to find out exactly what you know. You don’t know why he seems so interested, and you know you’re not interested in telling him.

“ _Mister_ Russo, yes. I’m sure you’ll be introduced at the meeting,” you say. You gesture for him to shoo as you go back to the boxes to get more of the bags to be stocked. He moves out of your way, but you refuse to look at him as you pass dangerously close to him.

As you round the table again, Frank comes up from the stairs and walks into the backroom to join the two of you. You smile at him, and he claps a hand over Dave’s shoulder.

“Hey sunshine, you got that pot on for me?” he asks you. He’s already making his way over to where he knows you keep his coffee brewing late. 

“Of course, Frank, it should still be hot.”

Dave side-eyes you. “You mean you _do_ have coffee left?”

Frank pours himself a mug and smiles over at you. “Don’t tell me you refused the poor man his coffee?”

You lift your hands in defense. “It’s your coffee, Frank. I’m not going to give it away to just _anyone._ ” You shoot a look at Dave, lifting your own brow while trying to hide your smile.

Frank laughs and waves Dave over. “Dave, my boy, come over here and get yourself a cup. Don’t mind her,” Frank laughs again as he comes to your side to kiss your cheek. “You’re a doll, sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’re still working?”

You grimace slightly at the question. “Well, I just have this box to unpack. And that one over there, and then those two, and then the last one just outside. And then I’m done.” You deflate as you realize just how much is left. It’s already well past eleven. 

“Oh, sweetie. Did Tony say he’d make it up to you?” Frank’s concern is touching, even as he drifts over to the door to return downstairs.

“He said he had a surprise for me,” you chirp.

Frank nods his approval and waves over to Dave as he finishes filling his own cup. 

“Good, good. David, come join us. You have to meet Mr. Russo, and Tony’s looking forward to discussing our uh,” he glances to you briefly, “mutual friend.”

Dave’s eyes drift to you for a moment before nodding his assent, taking his coffee with him. You notice he didn’t add anything to it, and you wave the two of them off. You don’t usually concern yourself with what goes on at the meetings, but there is that poke of curiosity as they leave you behind. Dave smiles back at you as he follows Frank who is already halfway down.

“We’ll talk later,” he says to you. You barely have a moment to throw out a ‘get going already’ before he winks at you over his shoulder and closes the door behind him.

You’re finally left in silence, only briefly disturbed by a couple of others as they enter from the back door and send you a cordial ‘evening’ before joining the others downstairs. It’s all the usuals you recognize, making Dave the only newcomer. You try not to wonder what that means as you continue to unload and restock according to your specifications.

It feels like it takes forever as you organize the shipments, each glance at your phone telling you only a few minutes have passed. You think about the meeting as you work, allowing yourself to be distracted. Your thoughts wander to Dave, again and again, wondering what he could be doing in the meeting if he only met Tony...what? Two days ago? You think about how he asked for your number, how ridiculous it seemed. You spoke for maybe a few minutes at a time, and maybe, yes, he seemed to be getting cuter, and sure, okay, he was fun to talk to. But that didn’t mean you would actually give him your number. No matter if you are technically looking for a date or not. Your thoughts spiral, and suddenly time moves much faster until you stare at the last box, now empty.

Fucking finally. You were fucking done. You glance at your phone. 1:30 AM. As per your agreement with Tony to stay and unload the order, you had been given tomorrow off, so you couldn’t complain nearly as much as you would have normally. An entire day off meant an entire day of sweats, Netflix, and Chinese take-out. And yeah, you might decide to go out and see if there was anybody at the local dive bar that looked tempting, or you might not. The notion of not having to commit to anything for an entire twenty-four hours has you grinning from ear to ear as you hang up your apron and grab your purse and jacket. 

You look down at your phone as you make your way through the shop. As you pass, you can hear the bosses in the basement conducting...whatever business meeting needs to be held in the basement of a Brooklyn coffee shop at 1:30 AM. You had long since figured out to stay out of Tony and Frank’s way. Never asking questions, never poking around, and never ever crossing the fine line between the business they manage downstairs and the coffee business you manage upstairs. 

You pause for a second with your hand on the handle of the front door as you skim through the group chat and read the texts that involved your very drunk roommate. You roll your eyes knowing that in just a few minutes you’d have to deal with her drunk ass, which was the absolute last thing you needed after this very long day. 

“You aren’t seriously considering walking home are you?” 

His voice jolts you out of your pity party for a moment, but you force yourself to take a deep breath. Hearing Dave York again was the absolute last thing you needed right now. You put on your best smile and turn around to face him. 

“Thanks for your concern, as always, Mr. York. But I’m not considering it.” You vaguely point out the door to the street, too tired to think anymore. “I am actually doing it.”

His gaze drops to the floor as he laughs. “You never did get me that special drink.” Realizing it’s not likely this conversation will end soon, you lean back against the archway and narrow your eyes as he slowly saunters toward you. “No number either, which is completely fair, I wouldn’t trust like a guy like me either.” 

He shrugs his shoulders as if to admit it, and you look at him. Really look at him. Okay fine, he is very handsome, you can’t deny that. His leather jacket fits him perfectly, and with him so close, you take note of the well-worn line of the shoulder. It’s real leather, likely soft to the touch. He smells good too, a deep musk you can’t identify as either cologne or aftershave. He’s got worry lines on his forehead with two little creases between his brows, you hadn’t noticed them before. The pout of his lips offsets the deep lines, and his eyes flick between yours in silent question.

“And so what do you want from me, Mr. York?”

“Well, the first thing I want is for you to start calling me Dave. I’ll make sure Tony and Frank know that I am insisting.” You raise your head ready to protest, but he takes another step closer so he is standing directly in front of you, and you have to look up at him from where you lean. You suddenly feel much smaller under his gaze. “And second, I want to get you home safe.”

“I do this every night...Dave,” you whisper up at him. “I’m going to be just fine.”

“What’s the harm in getting to know your colleague a little better?”

“I didn’t know you work at _Espresso Yourself_.”

“It’s a temporary thing. Hoping to make it permanent, however.” 

“Yeah?” You smile at that idea. “I’d love to see you in the apron. Then you can make your own drink.”

He rolls his eyes before reaching around you to push the door open. “No apron. But I’ll be here. Maybe I’d be willing to make my own drink if you _taught me._ ”

You don’t miss the flirtatious tone, but don’t acknowledge it either as you step through the open door. 

“Well then, Dave, it looks like I won’t be rid of you anytime soon.” The night is cool and the street quiet. It would be a long walk alone at this hour. You can see Dave hesitate for a moment, so you motion for him to follow, and he breaks out in a wide grin. “You can walk me home this _one_ time. But only because it’s so late.”

You lock the door to the coffee shop behind him. When you turn around, Dave offers his arm for you to take. You smile at the gesture. You don’t think any of the guys you’d dated had ever done something so simple yet so kind, and it spoke volumes to you in that moment about what type of person Dave _really_ was. You loop your arm through his and start walking. 

“So Dave, short for David I assume?” He nods. “How long have you been in Brooklyn, David?”

“Not long.”

“And what brought you to the Big Apple?”

“Uh, well, a change in lifestyle, I suppose.”

“Ah, your mid-life crisis?” You look at him with a smirk. 

“Do I look that old to you?” He turns to look back at you, and you can see even though he is amused, he’s being serious. 

You laugh and look ahead of you, not wanting to give anything away. “Do you really want me to answer that?” 

You’re met with silence. You refuse to look back at him, trying to hide the smile you still wear, and not ready to see his reaction. You do squeeze his arm in wordless reassurance, letting him know you’re just teasing him. 

“So,” he starts again, “what about you?” His arm pulls a bit on yours, keeping you close. “How was your day?” He asks it almost in a shy way, trying to start a conversation he doesn’t even know how to have.

“My day?” You duck your head, smiling at the ground. When was the last time someone genuinely asked about your day? “Well, there’s not too much to it. Let’s see. Someone stole my expensive water bottle and _brand new_ headphones out of my gym locker today. Which was actually really upsetting cause I loved that water bottle, but oh well, I guess. And then I came to work. Had to work way late, as you can see. And now I get to go back to my two-bedroom apartment with my three crazy roommates, one of whom is apparently ridiculously drunk.” 

You pause for a moment, considering how you sounded. It was a nice night out, despite the hour, and you appreciated the arm and warm body attached that walked along with you. 

“But don’t feel bad or anything, I’m just...ranting,” when you glance at him, he’s looking at you with raised brows as if to ask ‘you done?’ “There are worse things that could happen. It’s fine.” 

“Yeah?” He asks it as if he doesn’t believe you, and you have to roll your eyes at his teasing again. You bump him with your shoulder for good measure too.

“Yeah, my life is fucking amazing.” 

He laughs at that. 

“So what do you wanna do after this? With your life I mean.”

“What do you mean? I’m doing it.”

“You wanna be a barista for the rest of your life?” You don’t miss the way he swivels to look at you, face twisting and lips pursing. You’ve gotten the same look many times before. Every time you admit you don’t have some big goal or master plan you’re building up to.

“Why not? The gig with Tony is pretty awesome. It’s not super hard work. Pays good. I’m happy. What else could I want?” It was true. Maybe at different times, you imagine more for yourself. But you never felt pressed to get some big fancy job, a degree and a title, no impressive business or big family. You liked where you were at. Things change as they always do. And when they did, you would change with them. Simple as that.

“I’m not sure,” he says. Your answer obviously surprised him. He looks thoughtful for a minute before looking back down at you. “Seems like you got it all figured out. Maybe I should take a page outta your book.”

“Maybe you should, David York.” His reaction was better than you expected. Certainly better than your parents, better even than some of your friends.

You walk in silence for a moment more, and you can almost see Dave thinking over what you had just said. It’s touching how much he listens to you, considers everything you say to him like it matters, even if it was teasing him or making a dumb joke.

“And what should I know about you, David?” You ask. You want to know more, despite your original apprehension. His company never bothered you, and you find yourself curious about his sudden appearance in Brooklyn and his sudden appearance in your life. Your assumptions may be just that, or they may be right. Even so, you want to know something, anything. Did he have a big family or no family? Did he have dreams for his life? Somewhere he wants to travel?

He doesn’t answer right away, instead looks out into the night and away from your gaze. He hums low and deep, and you can almost feel it where your arm brushes his side.

“I’m not sure.” He says it honestly. “No one’s asked me that in a while. There’s not much to me.”

You don’t believe that for a second. “Alright, fine. Then let’s start basic. What do you like to do?”

“Escort attractive women home from work on late Saturday nights.” He looks over to meet your eyes, and you try to return it with a glare, but you’re still smiling.

“An escort, huh.” Now it’s his turn to pretend to be annoyed. He gives you a look, and you laugh before continuing. “Well, so far I think you’re pretty good at it.” You squeeze his arm playfully, bumping into him as you walk. “And what do you do for a living? Like what do you tell people?”

This catches him off guard. He pulls up short, snagging you on his arm as you stop too. You look to him again and see his face set with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“Sure,” you say. You know you’re edging into dangerous territory, but it’s a valid question. Honestly, you would think he’d have a better response than that. He likely knew you understood the basics of what was going on, and he’d implied his employment before. You decide to try again, hoping he gets that you’re just looking for something to work with. “What’s your job then, Mr. York?” 

You keep your arm in his as you start forward again, pulling him along with you. You know he wouldn’t tell you the honest answer--it was a better business that way, and you’d heard plenty of half-truths. You keep him moving, not really caring what exact job title he made for himself. 

“I’m in security. Private security.”

“Is that so?” You look both ways down the street and just nod along. It’s a good cover, maybe even mostly the truth. You assume he is about to go into more detail. Brag about his job, tell some wild story that is meant to be impressive, brag about himself even. Men always do. 

“That’s what I tell people anyway, yes.”

Now that, that surprises you. It’s you who slows down this time. You don’t say anything as you look up at him. He’s looking down at you with a sober expression, notice the downward turn of his mouth. You just give him the tiniest of nods, trying to indicate that you understand, that you know what he is trying to tell you. You actually appreciate that he doesn’t say more about it.

“Well,” you start, “if this is a part of your private security services, I’ll give you five stars on Google.” 

He chuckles, the tension relieved. “Thanks. You know what I would really appreciate is a chance to talk to you again. Just not…around…”

“The shop?” You finish his sentence for him.

“Yeah, just you and me?” His eyes are hopeful as they roam over you. You can’t help but feel a small flutter in your chest, but you press forward when you see your building come into view.

“I have to ask this because I feel like, well, I feel like it could be bad if I don’t. Did you talk about this with Tony and Frank?”

“No. Should I?”

“I’m...not sure? This is as far as one of their guys has gotten.”

“I suppose I should feel flattered.” His mouth curves into a smile as he leans into you, and you find you don’t mind the warmth.

“You suppose correctly,” you quip, smiling easily as you stop in front of your apartment building. “Tell you what, David. I like Italian food and wine. But I’m closing the shop every night, except Friday. We can do this again then.”

“I can’t wait that long,” he says and puffs his chest, probably impressed he got you to say yes at all.

“Well if you were serious, you’re going to have to.” You gently slip your arm from his, reaching into your bag for your keys. “Unfortunately, I’m very busy tomorrow, and unless you want me showing up in my apron, it’s gotta be Friday.”

“Come on, I know a great Italian place. There must be some time you can get out, tomorrow? Monday?” 

You do technically have tomorrow off, but selfishly you mean to keep that day to yourself. Something still nags at you that you said yes in the first place, but he was very insistent. And he does make a nice escort. And maybe you looked into his eyes one too many times.

“And I am sure the place is great.” You slowly back up, still watching him with a smile on your face as you move up the stairs. His gaze never leaves yours. “I look forward to trying it on Friday.”

“You do love to do that,” he calls up after you. His hands slip into his pockets as he rocks on his feet. You reach the landing and pause with a hand on the door.

“Yeah? What’s that, Mr. York?”

“Leave me wanting more.” 

You bite your lip and shake your head before pushing your way into the building. Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

⁌♡⁍


	3. (3) - the package

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you are forced to do unboxing at work, but you don't hate it.

⁌♡⁍

You reluctantly pushed yourself down the street towards the coffee shop. One day off wasn’t enough. A week off might not be enough. You had enjoyed your Sunday, sitting on your bed mindlessly surfing the internet, watching trashy reality TV, and ordering out twice. It was only briefly interspersed with panic about a certain conversation you had Saturday night. And a certain thing you had agreed to. But soon enough it was late, and you knew you’d eventually have to sleep to face the next day. 

Now though, you come to a stop for a moment in front of the familiar windows, look up at the scripted sign that read _Espresso Yourself_ as everyone else parted around you. Now, you had to go to work. 

You enter through the front, already shrugging off your jacket as you walk past the seating and behind the counter. 

“Hi Shelly, how’s it going?” You don’t even attempt to make eye contact as you greet your coworker and slide to the back. 

“Hey, boss!” Ana, the newest hire, a ditzy young woman though nice enough, greeted you with a smile behind the espresso machine. “Busy morning!” 

You don’t look her way but throw her a thumbs up instead as you push the door to the back open. First order of business is to tack up the new schedule you made in a brief moment of productivity yesterday, hoping this time people would actually show up for their shifts. You know it’s still probably too much to ask. The door opens behind you, but you don’t acknowledge it. You managed to get in early, and there are a few minutes before you were technically on the clock. 

You intended to enjoy them without disruptions. 

“Hey, so this weird thing happened.”

But that usually never works out.

You turn to see Shelly standing with her hands on her hips in the open doorway. You just wait for her to continue. “Yesterday, and then again today, this old dude came in asking for you by name.”

You furrowed your brows, racking your brain for who she could mean. “What? Who?” Too many strange things were happening recently. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask for his name!” Shelly looks at you with an exasperated expression as though you had asked for the outrageous.

“You didn’t think, I don’t know, maybe ask for the name of a random guy who is trying to get information about me?” There is an edge to your voice as you try and remain as calm as possible. Your shift hadn’t even begun and already things were starting. 

“I mean he didn’t order anything, so no,” she says with a shrug. 

You sigh. “Okay well, thanks for the heads up, Shelly. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“He said something about a date. IDK. I didn’t ask about that part, but he said that he needed your number...but I told him that you didn’t date customers.” 

There are a million things you want to say to Shelly, like her casual discussion of your personal life to a random customer, or the fact that she did without even knowing his name. But then you remember there is only one person who would've been bold enough to ask for your number from a coworker who had never even met him. You close your eyes for a moment and press a hand to your forehead. Shelly had called him an ‘old man.’ Oh Lord.

“Was he tall? Dark brown hair? Brown eyes?” you ask her, still holding a hand over your face.

“Um, yeah...I mean he was pretty good looking I guess, am I missing something here? Are you seeing someone?” Her jaw drops as you grit your teeth. “You didn’t tell me! Oh my god! Spill!”

“No, Shelly, I’m not seeing anyone,” you offer her. You’re annoyed, but you cannot decide why. Maybe it was your coworker’s airheaded approach on handling over-reaching customers, or maybe it was the sheer _nerve_ of Dave York. You cannot imagine what he was thinking coming in here and asking for you. His audacity. 

“Well, he seemed pretty intent on getting your number,” Shelly adds as she looks you up and down. She wasn’t stupid. You knew she knew more than she let on about what really happens around her. She was more observant than most gave her credit for, but at least she usually kept her observations to herself. If she didn’t have to deal with it, there was nothing that would make her. You suppose you could respect that, especially working here. No one would suspect Shelly of knowing a damn thing.

Unfortunately, you did know better. Whether you like her or not, she was your coworker.

“Yeah, well, I’ll deal with it. Thanks, Shelly.” You wave her off as you settle at the tiny desk to the side. You needed a moment. Or five. 

The idea that Dave was coming here _asking_ for you stirred something inside you. You had never felt this conflicted about going on a date with someone before. You didn’t usually hesitate to pick up an opportunity, and Dave was certainly that. But him coming for you at work? You frowned as you focused on a crack in the wall. You had only ever met Dave here, and you never did give him your number after you agreed to Friday night. You had to give him some credit. It’s not like he came knocking at your apartment. He was...probably just in to see your bosses. For whatever reason. And then stopped to ask Shelly for your contact information.

Yeah. Yeah, that made sense. That was normal. Your gaze follows the crack down before drifting to the top of the desk. A date was a date. You’d see him again at some point and give him your number then. Then you’d go out Friday, see what happens, and from there…deal with whatever. You chewed your lip. He knew you worked here every day this week, you had told him that much. Had you met Dave through anyone other than your boss, you argue you wouldn’t be feeling this way. He would respect any boundary you set, you pushed him enough to believe that.

You watch the clock on the wall slowly reach the top of the hour, and you know you cannot delay any longer. It was Monday. You had time to worry about Dave later. You wait till it’s one minute after two, then stand from your chair and dramatically grab your aporn. You push the door open as you tie it around your waist. 

“Alright, Ana, your time here is done. Enjoy the rest of your day!” You try and sound as cheery as possible, putting on your best customer service voice. Ana turns and smiles brightly.

“Yay! Thanks boss. I already cleaned the floors for you,” she says as if it wasn’t already part of her job description. You almost want to remind her that’s exactly what she’s supposed to do every day before she leaves, but decide today isn’t the day. 

“Thanks, Ana. We’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” She nods enthusiastically as she skips to the back. 

You start to do the usual routine - check the safe to count in, check the register, start cleaning the secondary espresso machine, take the trash out - it’s all so routine now you hardly think about much about it. 

When things get busy you’ll help out whoever is upfront, but there is a silent trust that Shelly could hold her own now after a year of working here. However, when a group of teenagers come in all ordering special, sugary drinks, you step in to move things along.

You held up a couple of pitchers. One was the wrong size and the other one was a non-dairy pitcher only, which quite clearly had been used _with_ dairy for most of the day. You sigh and let Shelly know as you pass you were going to find another in back. It was a good excuse to get away from the obnoxious group of teenagers, and to be quite honest, you needed the break from your coworkers. 

It was quiet in the back room, and you found the pitcher you needed within seconds. As much as you wanted to stall, you knew you needed to give a hand upfront. But glancing out, you see the line of customers, and with all the drama that happened, you debate giving in to sit down for a minute instead. 

Before you could do either, the back door creaked open, and you watched as someone shouldered their way in. Though his back was to you, you recognized the mop of dark, curly hair and the navy jumpsuit. 

“Hey Tommy, got another delivery?” you greeted him as you made a space on the far counter.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, pulling off from the door to carry a single box and set it down where you pointed. 

“Thanks. Anything I need to sign?” It was typical to get these sorts of deliveries, usually randomly throughout your shifts. Tommy or one of the other boys came in with a box or several, dropped them off for either Tony or Frank, and you scratched off on a paper to confirm its delivery and to look legitimate you supposed. Though you had seen many boxes, you had never seen the contents, not that you cared to. It was always sent to the coffee shop, but they were taken to their offices or the basement before you even asked.

Tommy brushed his hands on the back of his pants before shooting you a sparkling smile. “Nah, this one ain’t for the boss.” He reached over and tapped at a single word scrawled on the top of the box. “This one is for you.”

You froze for a moment before getting a better look. Sure enough, the only thing written on it was a single name. Your first name. 

First a stranger, who could or could not be Dave, comes around asking for you. Now a random box is sent to you at work? You don’t like the implications, even if you want to hope they are harmless.

“I see,” you reply dumbly. What more could you say? You can’t tell Tommy to take it back. And whatever is inside, you may not want to show the bosses either. “Do you know who sent it?”

He shrugs as he edges back to the door. “Dunno. Some guy. I just deliver.” 

You really ought to strangle more people you think. Though you supposed you couldn’t be one to judge. You nod to him, knowing it would be best to just go along with it. “That’s okay. Thanks Tommy, have a good afternoon.”

He lifts a hand in a wave and calls out “See ya later,” and disappears into the alley leaving you alone with the package. Briefly you wonder if you should be using more caution, but you figure whatever is in there surely can’t be nefarious.

You leave the pitcher forgotten, taking out the boxcutter and bringing the package closer to you. Your name is handwritten, in all capitals, somehow both messy and legible. You trace your fingers over the letters for a moment before you move to open it.

It’s not too heavy, and whatever is in there you can feel move around for a moment as you turn the box. You carefully use the knife to cut the tape on both sides before slicing along the top. You check over your shoulder for a moment, wanting to make sure you’re alone before you open the flaps. You can hear the sounds of the shop, customers talking, a machine running. They seem to be getting along fine without you for the moment.

You turn back to your mysterious package, feeling almost guilty as you slowly push it open and peek inside from a distance. Nothing appears to be of concern. You see the bubble wrap and something that looked like metal. You figure whatever it is, it’s fine, and you open it up all the way to pull out the contents.

And….Oh. My. God.

You bite your lip as you see what’s inside, partially touched and partially embarrassed. 

You reach in and take out two different brightly colored Hydro Flasks. Real Hydro Flasks. You examine them and notice only one has a straw as if the person sending this wanted to make sure and give you choices. Nestled below is a small white box...with the Apple logo on it. You take it out and see it’s a new pair of AirPods. Now you’re fully confused. These retail for over a hundred dollars, who in the world would send you such an expensive gift? 

There is still more packed below the small white box, but a part of you doesn’t want to see it anymore. There is a worry that whoever sent this hadn’t really meant it for you, and they would be furious when they see you had opened it. Then you see a small note tucked at the bottom. You bite your lip glancing around again before pulling it out. 

_Hope this helps brighten your day. - Dave (just Dave) PS - Let me know about Friday._

Scribbled below is what you have to assume is his phone number. You stand there for a full minute blinking at the note, stunned. You look at the rest of the contents of the package. An armband for your phone when you work out. A cute little case for the AirPods. And a lock with keys. 

You have to cover your mouth as small smile forms. You were touched. Really touched. You hadn’t ever received something so nice from...well anyone before. How could you have thought badly of him before? He had listened when you complained, and not only that, he went out and bought things that you could really use. You pick up the lock and turn it over in your hands, smiling widely now. Of course, he did.

You consider taking out your phone to text him a thank you, but the back door swings open to reveal Shelly who just looks between you and the open box. She looks confused before she bursts into a wide grin. 

“Oh my god, you really ARE seeing someone! Tell me everything. Right now.”

You let out a sigh before quickly packing everything back in before she can see it all. Especially the Airpods. “I am not. And there is nothing to tell. I just happened to get a delivery is all.” You bristle at the fact she ruined the moment.

The note is quickly tucked in your pocket, and the box folded closed to be carefully placed with the rest of your things. The words he wrote you burn where you stashed them, and you feel your face heat as Shelly still eyes you suspiciously, a smile still on her face. The longer you ignore her, the more likely she is to forget it, and sure enough, she’s leaning on the counter already on her phone a moment later. 

You swipe the pitcher from where you left it, doubting it's even needed anymore, but make your way back to the front, giving a last glance to the box you left behind. It’s quiet on the floor, and you busy yourself with straightening up to distract your wandering thoughts.

You still have several hours until the end of your shift. Mostly it’s you contained to your own thoughts, only occasionally interrupted by Shelly inquiring about the package and why it was sent. You still think of Dave’s note, safely hidden in your pocket. When Shelly steps away from you for a minute, you pull it out just to save his number. The temptation to text him a ‘thank you’ grows stronger and stronger with each passing minute. It nearly overwhelms you when you decide to use your really nice, brand new water bottle. You can’t help but randomly smile as you work, thinking about the gifts. That he was thoughtful enough to send something like that to you. 

After a painstaking few hours of opening and closing your messages app, filling orders, and opening your messages again, you finally watch as the clock reaches closing time.

As it creeps closer to ten, you let Shelly off early, the shop empty enough the two of you were able to clean what was needed. She heads out the front door with a wave and a teasing smile, as you quickly do your cash count for the safe. With the store now empty, you lock up and head in back. 

You can hear the voices in the basement as you hang up your apron and prepare to leave. For a moment you pause and wonder if Dave is down there with your bosses. You grab your phone and think maybe you should text him and ask. But no, he would’ve at least said hello even if he came from the back. You shake your head at the thought. Had you really just considered crossing the line you drew for someone you barely knew? 

Once you have everything together, you pick up your package last, cradling it in front of you. Texting him during the meeting would be silly. And if he wasn’t there and you shouldn’t have revealed there was a meeting...that would be even worse. You lock the front door behind you as you make your way onto the street. You pull out your phone again as you walk, opening up your messages for the hundredth time. You hover over the keyboard as you try and think of the right thing to say, but nothing seems quite right, nothing seems to convey the right amount of gratitude. Or the right amount of excitement. Or you might seem too eager and that could be a turn-off. 

You tuck your phone away again, deciding you need your roommate's advice for this one. A walk that normally took you about fifteen minutes suddenly feels like an hour. Even though you juggle carrying the box, your hand keeps drifting to the phone in your pocket. Apparently, he doesn’t even need to be present to drive you crazy, and you have a feeling that may be exactly what Dave intended with this package. Your thoughts are just him, and his stupid handsome face and his playful demeanor and his thoughtful mind and his apparently-large wallet. When finally you walk up the steps to your place, you’re practically buzzing. 

“Hey bitches! I’m home,” you call as soon as you cross the threshold of the apartment. You see two heads pop up over the edge of the couch. Sam and Whitney grin back at you as they let out a little cheer at your appearance. “Where’s Jesse? I have huge news.” 

On a usual night, you would retreat to your room, not really bothering to socialize with your roommates. They were good friends, and there when you needed them just as you did the same, but with four different routines, you each adopted habits you learned to respect. After a late-night closing, you were more than ready to shower off the smell of coffee and slip into bed to watch the newest drama, but today warranted a special circumstance. 

You drop off your stuff to rush over and sit down on the coffee table in front of the couch. Sam looks at you with amusement while Whitney leans forward in excitement. 

“Jesse’s in for the night. What’s up?”

“Okay, did I mention the man I met?” you start, “The other night at work?”

They both shake their heads in unison.

You tap your fingers together in front of you. “So, I think he might be into me.” That was the understatement of the century; you knew Dave was into you. You just couldn’t understand why. “He came into the shop today asking for me, and then he sent me this.” 

You pull over the package and hold up its contents. 

“Holy shit dude, these are so expensive,” Sam admires the Hydro Flask with envy in her eyes. 

“Wait, are these _real_ AirPods?” She reaches out to inspect them herself, jaw dropping when she confirms it. “These are worth like 200 bucks!” Whitney exclaims. 

“I know! I mentioned I lost mine at the gym and then he sent me these! And he left his number and - ”

Sam cuts you off. “Wait wait wait, he hasn’t even taken you on a date yet and he sent you these?”

“Um, no? We’ve only spoken a couple of times?” You wince. Now when you say it like that it seems weird. 

Whitney changes her voice, “ _I think he might be into me_ ,” she exaggeratedly gestures with her hands while rolling her eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?! You can _not_ be that stupid.” 

“Okay okay, I get it. But I haven’t texted him - ”

“WHAT!?” They both shout in your face, making you tense. 

“Okay I want to make sure that we are on the same page here, and I am understanding your dumb ass correctly - a man sends you this gift, like a long time ago, with his number attached and you HAVE NOT texted him a thank you?” Sam looks at you incredulously, and it’s like you’re suddenly staring at your mother. 

You can’t answer as you look at them sheepishly. Sam holds out her hand, and you slowly give her your phone. 

“What’s his name?”

“Dave,” you respond, not able to help the upturn of your mouth as you say it.

“That’s hot.” Whitney nods as she climbs next to Sam to look at your phone. “Like a good, strong name. Easy to remember.” 

“Dave is basic, but whatever,” Sam mutters as she taps through your phone.

“Didn’t you date a Dave?” You ask Whitney. 

“Hmm, no I dated a Dan. And a Danny. And a Damien for a summer in college.”

“God, you’re a slut,” Sam rolls her eyes playfully, and Whitney just hums in agreement. “Okay I’m hitting send.”

“Wait!” You jump up and try and grab the phone out of her hands, but she twists out of the way, leaping over the back of the couch. “Don’t do it yet!” You try and reach for her again, but she raises her hands in triumph. 

“It’s sent! I sent it. You’ll thank me later,” she winks at you as she hands the phone back to you. “It’s late, don’t beat yourself up if he doesn’t - ”

Your phone buzzes in your hand, and you see a reply. 

“Oh my god,” Sam looks at you with wide eyes. Whitney scrambles up over the couch and comes behind the two of you to read. 

_Dave: I was beginning to think u didn’t get my gift Happy to see u liked it_

You look at both of them smiling like an idiot. Sam reaches for your phone again, and you jerk away to retreat toward your room. 

“I’m going to take it from here I think, ladies.”

“No, no, babe, you need us. Remember last time with what’s his face?”

“Yeah, you really could’ve used us then!” Sam chimes in, and you feel betrayed.

“Okay, that’s rude. And this guy’s different anyways.” 

There is a standstill, you pointing an accusatory finger at them while they stare you down with doubt written across their faces. Before another word is spoken, you spin on your heels and rush into your room and lock the door. A bang sounds on the other side as they reach you, and you jump, as they yell for you to come out.

But you're too distracted by your phone to pay them any attention as they fade away. 

> _Dave: I hope I didn’t scare u off. Just wanted to make sure we were still on for Friday_

Three texts and you only sent one. You smile down at your phone as you begin to type:

_You: No, just surprised. In a good way tho. And I’d love to see you Friday :)_

> _Dave: Did u have a good day?_
> 
> _U don’t mind me texting u this late?_

_You: It’s 1030 Mr. York lol, no I don’t mind at all_

You want to laugh at the sudden absurdity of the situation. You push off from your door and flop down on your bed as you wait for his response.

> _Dave: Its Dave_
> 
> _And I plan to text u more often_

_You: Okay Mr. York ;)_

_To both those things_

> _Dave: U liked ur gift?_

_You: I really really really did. Thank you. Are you sure about all of it? I know some of it is a bit expensive….and I don’t want you to regret it._

> _Dave: That’s y it's called a gift_
> 
> _I wanted to give it to u_
> 
> _Enjoy it_

_You: You’re being too nice to me, Mr. York_

> _Dave: R u calling me that to annoy me?_

You bite down on your bottom lip, too amused at this. You imagine his reaction, remembering the way he would playfully roll his eyes and shake his head.

_You: Is it working?_

> _Dave: Yes_

_You: :)_

> _Dave: What are u doing?_
> 
> _Am I allowed to ask that?_

_You: You can ask whatever you want, I just might not answer_

_And I’m about to watch some Netflix_

> _Dave: Anything good?_

_You: Yeah, show called Narcos And I like talking to you, you don't have to worry about that part._

> _Dave: U like talking to me?_

_You: Yeah, I do actually_

You’re surprised at it yourself, but it’s the truth. Something about it is just exciting, and he seems to be a better texter than most men you’ve talked to. You have to laugh at his text etiquette, but it’s endearing. You don’t know why you were so worried before. You wonder if he’ll come in again soon, and you shoot him another text:

_You: Are you coming by the shop this week? Before Friday?_

> _Dave: I’m out of town on business._
> 
> _But I won’t miss Friday. Promise._
> 
> _Available to text_
> 
> _Call_
> 
> _Or video :-)_

_You: I’ll be sure to keep texting you :) And I’ll hold you to it. I’ve been missing some good Italian food_

> _Dave: Then I’ll be sure to deliver_

You’re already under your blankets, still partially dressed as you continue to text him. It grows late as you two talk about anything and nothing, and it’s not until your eyes close as you attempt to read your screen that you even realize you never bothered to turn on your show. You try to stay up, but eventually, you fall asleep talking with Dave about mindless things. Yet somehow, it feels like more. 

**⁌♡⁍**


	4. (4) the date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> your first date ends up being more than you bargained for.

⁌♡⁍

_Ping!_

You blink your eyes open to the harsh morning light. 

_Ping!_

Your phone screen turns on with a new notification.

_Ping!_

You pull the blanket over your head to hide the morning sun and smile broadly under the covers as you kick your legs in elation. You reach over after a moment and pat around for your phone before quickly unlocking to see three unread messages from one Dave York. 

_Dave: Back in the Big Apple_

Attached is a picture of him standing on the curve at the airport and you smile wider. 

_Dave: Gm Its finally Friday_

You pull up the picture again, thinking how to respond.

_You: Was there something happening today?_

You have to hand it to Dave, he is the fastest texter you’ve ever met. Despite being older than you and likely didn’t grow up texting, he always replied within a few minutes. No matter what. It was a strange comfort that very few others were able to provide. 

_Dave: Ur funny And cute_

_You: Are you flirting with me? Save it for later_

You continue to text him while reading and checking your social media for about an hour longer than you should have, but finally, you decide you should probably start your day. 

It doesn’t take a minute after you leave your room for Whitney to accost you.

“Oh good you’re finally awake,” she greets you with a curled lip. “These came for you. This is fucking ridiculous.”

She hastily hands you a large bouquet of brightly colored flowers. It was the fourth one to arrive this week. Dave had made sure to send you flowers every morning, making your shared apartment look like springtime despite the approaching winter weather. You roll your eyes as you head out into the kitchen to grab something to eat.

Jesse is packing the last few items into her bag for the day as she looks up. 

“Are we ever going to meet this perfect man? Or are we going to have to assume you are sending these things to yourself to make us jealous?” She smiles as she says it, brightening her soft face.

“Why would you be jealous? You’re engaged to like the perfect fiancee,” Whitney throws her an angry scowl. 

“You’re right Whit, Nicole _is_ the perfect fiancee.” Jesse turns to you again, her tone revealing her concern. “But seriously, babe, are you sure this guy is for real? This seems like...a lot?” 

You look up from the note attached to the flowers and pout. “Why? You think this is a bad sign?”

“No, not necessarily, it just seems…like a little much. What do you actually know about this guy?” Jesse asks. 

Of course, your roommates had no idea what the coffee shop really was--you hadn’t even mentioned Tony or Frank to them, trying to keep them as far from a potential cross over as possible. So what could you possibly say to them now? How could you even begin to explain your connection to Dave? 

“Well, he came into the shop a couple of times.” It’s a true statement, even if it’s not the whole truth. You have to think of the best way to phrase this without giving anything away, and without making this seem as much a bad idea as you first thought. “...and he’s super cute. He asked for my number…and after I said no, he just insisted.” You shrug, even if you know how it sounds.

“So he’s a creep?” Whitney raises her eyebrows.

“No!” You shoot her an angry look, remembering how genuine he was when he walked you home. “He is just forward. Which is a nice change of pace from all the losers I’ve dated recently.” 

“Okay, while that may be true, just promise us you’ll be careful?” Jesse grabs her bag and makes her way towards the front door to leave for work. Your phone buzzes on the counter and all three of you turn to look at it. “Heartbroken you is not something any of us need to deal with right now.”

“Okay well, there’s nothing to worry about because I am an expert in all things love,” you say with confidence and ignore the sarcastic laugh from Whitney. You weren’t stupid, you knew how to handle this. Dave was just another potential prospect, and today you would see if he was a one and done, a leave at the curb, or maybe something more. It doesn’t matter how quickly you swipe your phone to immediately open the three more messages from Dave. Even if you notice the automatic smile that forms when you read the texts. 

Evidently, your roommates notice too. 

“Yeah, I’ll remember that when I have to drag your depressed ass out of bed again,” Whitney rolls her eyes as she stands, and you just wave your hand in her direction, too focused on the new messages to care. 

Dave had sent a picture of a fluffy dog he had seen on his way home from the airport with the comment ‘looks like a mop’. You laughed a little, even if he was being mean. You confessed your love for dogs to him late one night this week, but that you had tragically never been allowed to own one growing up due to your mother’s allergies. Obviously, he listened since this was the second dog picture he sent saying that it reminded him of you. 

Now considering what your roommates had to say, you realize you don't know that much about Dave. He always steered the topic of conversation back to you, your interests and likes and dislikes. It was a refreshing change of pace from most of the other guys you had dated in the past, so you hadn’t thought that much about it. Until now. 

Maybe it was a bit strange that you didn’t know that much about Dave’s personal life. You may argue that you have yet to have your first date, but you’ve still been talking for about a week and you can’t think of anything of substance the two of you had discussed about him. He worked in ‘private security’ as he told you. You did know he lived alone somewhere in Brooklyn. And he had just moved to Brooklyn because…wow. You hadn’t even bothered to ask, too caught up in the excitement of someone being genuinely interested in you. 

But you figured that’s why you were going on this date, right? People go on blind dates all the time. It would be fine, and he’s behaved mostly like a gentleman so far.

You spend the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon trying to avoid thinking about specifics. Dave still texted you sporadically throughout the day, and you figured it was a good sign. At least you knew there was plenty to talk about at dinner. You would ask more about him then, while still skirting around the subject of his employment. Work was always a drag to talk about anyway.

When five o’clock rolls around, you’re ready to _start_ getting ready. Looking at the mess in your closet becomes overwhelming enough that you decide to beg Sam to come help you pick something out. The two of you settle on a little black dress--it’s simple, but it fits you well despite it bordering just a little too tight. Sam picks out jewelry for you too and paired with your nice faux leather jacket, you look more sophisticated with only a hint of slutty. The perfect combo.

You’ve only just finished styling your hair when you get another text from him.

_Dave: Driver should be there in 5_.

_You: Driver?_

_Dave: Yes He’ll bring you to the restaurant_

Now, this is a surprise. How much money did Dave make to afford a driver? And was it really necessary for the first date? You wanted to spend time with _him_ , not his money. One of the reasons you found Dave so intriguing is because he _listens_. Really listens. You wanted to get to know him, and now he’s sending some stranger to pick you up? You sit for a moment, knowing that five minutes isn’t much time to hesitate. 

Maybe he was still caught up with work and wouldn’t be able to pick you up in time. But surely he could have just said he would be a few minutes late? That wouldn’t be a problem. You ran late all the time.

Not sure what to say, you just like his message. You briefly wonder if you should ask your roommates if this was weirdly unusual or if you were making it into a big deal. Ultimately, you decline to disclose this new bit of information to your roommates, deciding they were already negative about the situation this morning, and you didn’t need to give them another reason to dislike Dave. 

You gather your things, tucking them into your clutch, and pocketing your phone. Normally you would shout a goodbye to everyone, maybe tell them not to wait up if you were feeling lucky. Tonight, you slip out of your room, noticing Sam and Whitney sitting on the couch with their backs to you. Jesse’s in her and Sam’s room, likely on the phone with Nicole, and you see your chance. You really should have told them you left, but as you walk through the hall and down the stairs, you feel some relief. You don’t have to endure their teasing and their warnings. And you don’t have to lie to them.

But as soon as you step out of the building and onto the street, you’re crushed under the weight of a new burden. Who is this driver, how will you know them? What exactly is Dave doing that he can’t pick you up himself? You nervously chew at your lip and check your phone for the thousandth time since his last text. You could...text him and ask. Or you could patiently wait and just go along with it. His five-minute text was now five minutes ago. 

Apparently, your hesitation wins out as you stand on the curb, when suddenly a sleek, black Escalade pulls up in front of you and stops. You stand for a minute glancing between your phone and the car before slowly approaching the passenger side door. The window rolls down, and an older gentleman in a tailored suit with white gloves and a black cap smiles back at you.

“Usually passengers jump in the back, Miss.” 

“Right.” You give him a polite smile and an awkward thumbs up as you yank the back door open. You slide into the seat and are smacked by the overwhelming smell of freshly cut flowers. The entire backseat is filled with baskets of flowers, and in the middle is a bottle of champagne next to an empty glass. 

The driver smiles at you through the rearview mirror to let you know you can go ahead and open the bottle if you’d like, but where’s the fun in drinking alone in a fancy car? Chugging the bottle may ease your nerves, but it certainly wouldn’t reflect well on you. Besides, there could be more at stake. For all you could know, the champagne could be laced with something. Or even the glass. You’ve seen movies. Your grip on your phone tightens.

“Umm, excuse me, Mr...Driver?” You had no idea if there was proper etiquette in this situation. You lived in New York. Taxis and Uber were a way of life. But a private driver, sent to pick you up for a date? This was new. 

“Call me Ziggy, Miss.” Ziggy smiles back at you in the rearview mirror without a concern in the world. 

“Umm, I’m so sorry to ask.” It’s easy to smile back even if you know it’s fake. “But you don’t happen to know where we are going do you?” 

“Mr. York insisted I keep it a surprise.” He responds while making a smooth turn, still both formal and friendly.

You sit there in silence for a minute thinking about where you could possibly be going. When you notice that you are headed for the bridge, and out of Brooklyn, it hits you. This was a terrible idea. One of the dumbest. You knew who you worked for and the importance of never getting involved, never asking more questions than necessary. You worked in a coffee shop owned by a _mob_ for heaven’s sake. Dave York was hired by them to do _something_ , no doubt illegal. And you had just willingly gotten into an unmarked car driving to an unknown destination that was arranged by the very man.

Your stupidity never fails to amaze you. Apparently, you always were able to out-stupid yourself, and this was a perfect example of what a dumb bitch you could be when you tried. 

Panic starts to build as you sit and watch out the window, noting the streets that pass by. You consider just texting Dave and asking him. But then you think about how ridiculous that conversation sounds in your head. ‘ _Hey, Dave, just wondering if you are going to kidnap and torture me cause I work in a coffee shop owned by the Italian mob. No big deal if not, just have to ask, thanks for the AirPods though!’_

No, if it was true, you couldn’t trust whatever he said. And if it wasn’t? Well, you hope to God whenever you finally do see him, you can determine for yourself in a hopefully very public place.

Until then, you should at least contact someone as backup. You think of Tony's saved number in your phone. It was his personal cell, not meant for business. You had never used it before. He had given it to you under the instruction that it was to be used if there were any emergencies regarding _business_ or otherwise. It was really just a lifeline, but it gave you a sense of security to know it was there.

You tap through your phone and find Tony’s number. As soon as you stare the number in the face, it suddenly doesn’t feel like such a good idea. Was this really an emergency? Maybe Dave really was taking you on a date. He had spent all week texting you from the break of dawn to whenever you fell asleep. He had spent a lot of money on those gifts and then some with the excessive flower arrangements. But what if that was just so he could lure you out and...what? 

You shake your head. No, in the grand scheme of things, you weren’t that important. Not even remotely. You didn’t know anything, you barely even did anything. You would be one of the worst people to waste this much time and money on kidnapping. You would be of no use to any rivals, and you highly doubt Tony or Frank valued your life enough to pay a ransom. Any self-respecting mobster would know that, you reason.

You couldn’t be a target, but you didn’t want to take a chance. You take a few deep breaths and subtly lift your eyes to the driver.

“Are you going to be my driver for the night then?” You manage to keep your voice level and glance down at your phone, trying to sound bored. You pull open your Snapchat and turn on your location to make sure your icon shows up on the map. If your roommates saw it, they’d know to be on alert and watch to see where you were heading. 

“Yes. After the first stop, I’m taking you to dinner to meet Mr. York. He’ll join us from there.” 

You freeze in your seat. “Wait, we’re stopping somewhere first?” 

“Yes, but I’m not supposed to say.” He says it with one of his easy smiles, and it might have reassured you if you didn’t know better. Whoever this ‘Ziggy’ was, he seemed to earnestly believe you were nothing more than the object of Dave York’s affection on the way to a possibly romantic destination.

You can’t help but nervously fidget in the backseat, silently cursing the way too many flowers. Okay. This is fine. You are in a stranger’s car with absolutely no clue where you are headed. A very clean car. Almost sterile. Yes, this is fine. There was no need to panic. You try and play it cool as you send off a few snaps to your roommates. You send a picture of the driver, then the interior of the car, and you include all the details he had just explained. Yes, maybe you would freak them out, but better safe than sorry.

The car pulls up in front of the Verizon store. 

“Mr. York said instructions would be waiting inside.” He parks and looks back at you, making you hastily tuck away your phone and giving you no room to refuse.

“Right…” You look at the store skeptically and wonder if you could make a break for it. Anytime you hear ‘instructions’ you can’t think of anything good. You decide against it, knowing you would likely end up in an even worse situation that way. There was no outrunning this. 

You take a deep breath to steel yourself as you step out of the car and walk to the shop, heels clicking on the pavement. The door is unlocked, and the lights still on, though it seems much dimmer inside than you would expect. 

“Good evening, you must be Mr. York’s date,” the clerk greets you. You smile at him but don’t attempt to respond, and he continues. “He said that you can pick out any phone you like, mentioned your camera being broken...anyways it’s all paid for, and we can set it up.”

Your jaw drops. What could you even say? The amount of money he has been dropping on you is astonishing. You’re not sure how you feel about it, even if it _was_ genuine. When you don’t make a move, he awkwardly shifts on his heels. 

“I’m guessing this is a surprise, then?”

You open your mouth to respond but all that comes out is a nervous laugh. “Um, yeah.” You don’t mean to sound as tense as you do, but your thoughts are racing.

“Well, he said your camera is broken. Want me to take a look at your old phone?” He glances down at your hand where you’re holding your phone in a death grip. 

You had made up some excuse on the first day you started texting that your front camera was broken to get away with not sending Dave any pictures. It was a classic move. You figured a guy like him would know what you were getting at - you weren’t ready to send him risky pictures yet. You said it to just about every new guy you started talking to. 

Now, you feel the need to analyze any text you ever sent him. He hadn’t asked you for risky pictures. He hadn’t even asked you for a single picture of anything. He may have had no problem flirting, but you had made sure to steer him clear of any late-night conversation that turned uncomfortable. 

But really? A whole new phone just for that? You barely knew him… and he barely knew you. This date was supposed to be an opportunity to actually get to know each other. Instead, it felt like some crazy power trip for him. What would he possibly gain from this? You didn’t like the idea of him holding this against you in the future. You didn’t like the idea that you would owe him something, just because you accepted another expensive gift. 

It was beginning to get all too suspicious. You look at the man and fake a polite smile. 

“Thanks, but no,” you say. It’s the best you can give him before turning on your heels and marching out of the shop. 

You think about making a run for it. Just booking it down the street as fast as you possibly can, you do workout, after all. You’re in decent shape. But you see the guard by the door, the driver standing by the car, and the store clerk behind you, and you know there is no chance your high heeled ass could outrun these clowns. 

Amazingly enough, you are able to remain calm as the driver steps forward to open the back door for you and give you a hand into the car. You do nothing to stop him. You again consider giving Tony a quick call, maybe just to confirm that Dave was on your side. 

You huff and lean against the car door as it pulls away. What are you thinking? _Your side?_ You don’t _have_ a side because you are _not_ a part of the mob, and the entire situation could have been avoided if you just kept it in your pants. But Dave had been so nice and so handsome and of course, your stupid ass fell for it. 

You’re starting to panic now. Really, sincerely panic. You try and reason away all the strange circumstances as just a wealthy man out of touch. Or maybe he just _really_ liked you. Yeah, maybe he was willing to spend an absurd amount of money on your regular, boring self. You can’t think of one reason in all the conversations from the past week that would make Dave genuinely interested in you. He was going to get you a new phone so what? He can track you? Or...so you _couldn’t_ be tracked, you think as you look down at your phone. Maybe you wouldn’t have all your contacts, all your information transferred...

And that’s when a full-blown panic settles in your stomach. 

“Hey, um, Ziggy?” You lean forward, reaching to put a hand on the console as you flounder. “Could you pull over? I gotta…get some money...at an ATM?”

“Oh, no need. We’re only three blocks away, and you can see this traffic.”

Talk about a backfire. You slide your hand into your lap, and you slump back in your seat. Now what?

Your phone pings next to you, and you see a message from Dave.

_Dave: Running a few min late Not standing you up Promise_

You close your eyes. Oh good God. 

Was Dave running late or was this a part of some elaborate plan? He comes late so he has an alibi for when….oh God. What if Dave was hired by Tony and Frank? What if this was them trying to clean up from the inside? That would explain why they brought in someone new, why Dave came on so strong. They hadn’t expressed any disinterest in you, didn’t even mention if you weren’t doing a good job. You try to come up with anything explicitly telling that you could have possibly witnessed, but there’s nothing. And you had made sure to never ask any unnecessary questions regarding the business. You were a coffee shop manager. That’s it.

But what if they had decided it was time to replace you? 

The car pulls to a stop in front of a building somewhere in the heart of downtown Manhattan. You didn’t recognize the area, but the street was busy, lined with party goers standing in front of the entrance. 

“You’re on the list, don’t worry,” the driver smiles as he turns and nods at you. You just stare back at him with wide eyes, just as confused as you are concerned. When you don’t move, his smile falls, and you recognize how he drops his customer service facade. “This is your stop. If you go now, you’ll be right on time.” 

“Right, uh, thanks?” He just nods as you pull the door open weakly. “You picking us up too?”

“That’s all Mr. York. He said he would take care of you.”

“Oh,” you start laughing, and the sound makes you seem unhinged. The driver doesn’t seem to find it amusing and just waits for you to exit. You give him one final forced smile, which you are sure looks more like you’re in pain. 

You approach the door, eyeing the busy street, the cars that are parked, the entrance to an alley, the type of people standing nearby. You can just make out the street name, and make a mental note to send out your new location. You had been to a few clubs in your life, but you had no idea what to do in this situation. Typically you would wait in line, your name was never on a list. 

You hesitantly step up to the door, ignoring the other people giving you looks as you go to address a man holding a tablet. The bouncer considers you as if he is waiting for you to say something. 

“Name, sweetheart?”

“Oh, right,” you give him your name, glancing quickly to the crowd. Then it dawns on you. These are regular people standing right here unless the mob decided to pay off several dozen New York hipsters just to fool you. You say your name again, this time louder. Then you shout it again even louder while facing the group of people and waving before pointing at yourself. This catches their attention. 

Several people turn to see what the disruption was about. You walk over to the front of the line and smile at the two girls near you. 

“You can tell everyone you met me! I’m very famous. Or I might be very very soon!” You take the phone out of one girl’s hand and pose for a selfie with the two wildly confused club-goers. When you hand the phone back to the girl you look at her with a deadly serious expression. “Don’t delete. Please. It’s really important.”

Graciously she goes along with it, just giving you a confused nod.

You turn back to the bouncer at the door and smile. You make sure to repeat your name for him but he only gives you a look of boredom. He clearly dealt with drunk wannabe famous girls on the daily, so your little show was nothing new to him, but you figure making yourself as large and obnoxious as possible would attract more attention. And more potential witnesses. 

Inside the club, it’s loud and cramped. The noise and crowds are enough to make you want to crawl into a ball, but when two large men approach you, everything seems to tunnel.

The man asks for your name. You give him a timid nod. He gestures for you to follow him towards the back of the club. You had never heard of the nightclub you were in, which was saying something. Your roommates frequented all the hottest clubs in Manhattan, and on more than one occasion you had been the one quested to find one of their drunken asses when a date had abandoned them.

You’re led to an elevator and sent to another level. Some forty stories up. You consider pulling the emergency stop. Then you could go to the police when the fire department shows up and they’d be able to help. But you laugh at the thought. Y _eah, officer, I was fully aware I was working for the mob but I just chose not to divulge this information until my life was actually being threatened!_ No, you had chosen this, you remind yourself. You knew the risks. 

You didn’t know enough about rival mobs in New York to know if this restaurant is a front. To be honest, you don’t know _anything_ about any mobs, not even the one you are currently about to die for, which feels somewhat cruel. You remind yourself you had chosen to continue to work at _Espresso Yourself_ long after you knew what was really going on behind closed doors. The elevator dings and you take a deep breath as the door slides open.

It’s a restaurant. An eerily quiet, empty, extremely fancy restaurant. 

Maybe the ritziest restaurant you’ve ever stepped foot in. One of those places that would serve ridiculously small portion sizes but charge hundreds for each crumb. You want to roll your eyes, already hating that you were going to die in a classist restaurant at the top of a skyscraper in downtown Manhattan - it seems such an ill-fitting death. 

The large bodyguard - you assume he’s a bodyguard from the way he is standing with his hands crossed in front, wearing dark sunglasses and an earpiece - gives you a small nod towards the back of the room before retreating behind two doors into the kitchen.

You can see a table set up with candles and roses. It’s in the very corner of the room with a sweeping 180-degree view of New York. It looks like something out of a dream. You assume this was the table reserved just for your and Dave’s ‘date’. As you take another step into the restaurant you realize just how empty it is. There are no customers at all, no waiters, no bartender, no manager. You concentrate on breathing as you inch toward the table.

When a waitress appears, you wave her off, declining her offer of any drinks or appetizers. You don’t even sit. You have to assume that anyone here was being paid off to keep quiet about any illicit activities that might take place. You didn’t blame them, they needed to make a living too. You had turned a blind eye to a lot of things yourself, believing that it didn’t matter if you quit. Tony and Frank would continue to run their business and some other poor soul would be the manager. 

You knew you didn’t _really_ have an excuse for working for the mob. It’s not like you couldn’t turn to your family for help. But you’re stubborn and the stipulation of having to move back home was always going to be a no. 

New York was your home now. And you’d rather die here than crawl back to them defeated and unhappy.

You look out the floor to ceiling window next to your table. At least you had a decent view to enjoy while you awaited your disastrous fate. You pull out your phone and start a group text with your best friend and roommates. You try and think of the best way to phrase this without giving away too much information. Just as you pull it up, you consider how far they would be willing to go. If they off you, a coffee shop manager, they may just take care of your recent contacts. No text then.

You open Snapchat and take a selfie in front of the window with a view of the New York City skyline, throwing up a peace symbol. You try and think of a clever caption that won’t give away your panicked thoughts, but also could be used as a clue later.

_a breathtaking view. literally._

Yeah, that works. 

You tag the location, time, and date, and then for good measure you save it to your camera roll. You hear the elevator ding, and you quickly tap the send all button. Hopefully, you’d left enough evidence for whoever ends up looking for you to piece together where you end up. God, you were really going to die in a Manhattan skyrise. Well, maybe he’d take you somewhere else if you asked, just the thought of this being your final destination was disappointing. You always pictured if someone did come for you, you go down with a fight. 

You think of texting your family. Your parents deserved a last ‘I love you’ at least, this wouldn't be easy on them. And your siblings. God, when was the last time you actually talked to them? Two weeks ago? No, it was longer than that, nearly four weeks now cause you’d been busy. And now you didn’t have enough time. You take a deep breath as you hear the footsteps from the elevator. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” His voice hits you like a train. You don’t turn around to face him but just stare blankly forward. You hear him getting closer and you can hear the smile in his voice as he approaches. “I asked for the best view in the city, I hope you like it.” Finally, you feel his hand on your shoulder and you tense. You turn and face him, but avoid looking at him directly as you stare at your toes. “Hey, everything okay?”

You tense your shoulders and take a step back, making his hand fall away. He seems confused by the action, bringing his hands up to reach for you but then apparently thinking better of it before tucking them in his front pockets. After a moment of silence, you shuffle your feet and give him a barely audible whisper. 

“Can you just….get it over with? I don’t know anything and….this is torture enough.”

He breathes out a laugh, hands slipping out of his pockets, just for him to clinch a fist and replace them. “I’m sorry, I’m not following,” You look at Dave’s face for the first time. He is looking at you with concern, mixed with lots of confusion. 

It pisses you off. He was here to do a job, there was no reason to put on some big show now. He had you. Just do it already. 

“Just...do what you gotta do. But please, make it quick, yeah?” Dave looks at you completely baffled. “Please don’t make this worse, by acting like, you actually liked me or something.”

“I do…actually like you,” Dave furrows his brows in confusion. “That’s why I asked you out.”

“ _That’s_ why you asked me here? _Completely_ alone? In a totally empty restaurant? Like a hundred stories in the air, Dave! Where anything can happen?!” your voice is shrill as you take two steps back from him. “And you tried to get rid of my phone so I couldn’t be tracked, but I’m not a complete idiot, so my friends know I’m here by the way. I hope you’re ready to deal with that, Mr. Bullseye.” 

There is a flash of realization in his eyes as you continue to back away. You scan the room to avoid his gaze, but it only takes two strides before he is standing right in front of you. He grabs you by the shoulders gently and forces you to look into his eyes. 

“Did you think this was…a hit?”

“It kind of really seems that way, Dave,” you whisper. 

You bite your lip as you see his reaction. All the hope fades from his face, and you can see regret creep into his eyes. You know you’ve always been good at reading people, and you can see it in his eyes - he is either one of the greatest liars you’ve ever met, or you were wrong about his intentions. And you didn’t want to be wrong about this, you realize. Dave York was a hitman, plain and simple. There was no way there could be a happy ending. You have to trust you told yourself that first night, despite how desperate Dave looks at you now. You take two steps backward and your back touches the window.

“I didn’t, I didn’t think... Shit, please, don’t leave.” Dave stares into you, and you know he can see the fear in your eyes. He throws his hands up in the air and takes a step back. “God, please, I did not think you would…You weren’t supposed to know.” He glances around the empty restaurant as he hesitates. “I didn’t think you knew. About me. I would never…I work for Tony.” 

You watch his face carefully, every shift in expression. He’s thinking, mentally checking everything that could have gone wrong, struggling with what to tell you. A part of you wants to believe him, the part that maybe still held that crush for him, the man who walked you home and texted you every day, the one who listened and didn’t hesitate to swoop in with what you needed.

“Can we reset?” His voice is quiet, gentle, as though he’s trying to calm a wild animal. You suppose you feel like one, backed into a corner like this. He lowers his hands and nervously extends his hand out for a handshake. “You can pat me down if you like. No gun. Nothing.” 

Not even glancing at the outstretched hand, you push yourself away from the window and take a step to the side to put the table between you. He doesn’t move beyond letting the hand fall again, fingertips settling on the corner of the table and tapping nervously.

“I know I fucked up,” he tries again. You nod your head, still thinking over what he said. “You’re smart. Tony…he said you were smart, but I’m, well, I’m impressed.”

“Why’s that?” You continue to take another step around the table. You don’t feel the same fear you felt when you walked in. The feeling melted with Dave’s words, leaving nothing in its place. You keep a stoic expression, and it matches the hollowness inside. 

“Well, if this was a hit you figured it out, which means you have a chance. And you’ve clearly scoped out the exits. You know which one’s closest. Going for that one is smart. I might not be able to catch you,” he points to the door directly behind you now, the very one you’d been edging towards. You don’t turn your head to look as you scowl at him. “I’m supposed to be aware of my surroundings, remember?”

The memory fills that emptiness in your chest, squeezes in a way that hurts. You almost want to laugh at the joke. Almost. But the pain grounds you, reminds you why Dave York could never be some perfect date.

“How do I know this isn’t your evil monologue before you torture me or some shit?” you spit it out in a way you know hurts him. You watch his face fall again, the defeat he feels clear to see.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I give you my word.” You only purse your lips. “I just wanted to take a pretty girl on a nice first date. Do something normal.”

“ _Normal?_ ” you seethe. There is no way he could think this was normal. Not even a wealthy man could be this out of touch. Surely, not even the most disconnected person on earth could think this resembled normal. “You think this is a _normal_ first date?”

He looks at you baffled for a moment, you can see he is searching for the correct words, not wanting to fuck up an already fucked up situation. He scratches the back of his neck searching for a reply.

“I guess I really wouldn’t know. What do you consider normal?” Dave asks with a shrug and a quirk of his lips.

Now, you know this is a lie. Or just using humor to defuse the situation. He’s a very handsome man, and he obviously has a substantial amount of money to waste. So him acting like this was his first date ever was the last straw. You narrow your eyes in anger and start backing up towards the exit door. 

“You promise you aren’t going to hurt me?” 

“No, no. I’m not. And I never will. I swear on my life.” To his credit, he says it earnestly. And maybe you let yourself believe it. Maybe he would never intend to hurt you. But in the end they were just words.

The last you see of Dave, his hands are in his pockets, resigned look on his face as he stares at you from the opposite side of the abandoned dining table. He does not attempt to stop you or chase you as you back up. Or when you finally turn your back and run. And not even when you push through the exit stairwell, nearly leaping the flights of stairs. You try to forget the way his face looked as you run down. 

And down.

And then down some more. 

When you hear the loud pounding of the bass you know you have to be close to the first floor.

Your feet are aching, but you push yourself through an unmarked door and onto a crowded floor. You push yourself through the sweaty bodies only trying to find some space. You don’t want to think about the last couple hours, the whirlwind of emotions, or the face of the man you left standing upstairs. You just want to collapse.

You’re more than relieved when you finally see the exit. You blend in perfectly with the crowd already exiting from the club, not looking any worse than the other girls. You pull out your phone and fumble through the messages from your roommates asking how it was going. You ignore them for now, immediately going find Tony’s number. You press it. You may have hesitated before, but after what just happened, the part inside you that cared had died. It rings several times before you hear his familial voice.

“I thought you were supposed to be on your date, kid?” 

And there was your answer. 

A simple. Easy. Answer. One you could’ve gotten an hour ago. 

You laugh into the cold night air. You really are the world’s dumbest bitch and you didn’t even have to try.

“Oh, yeah, about that,” you giggle, trying to hold back the tears, wanting to sound as casual as possible so Tony doesn’t know about your disaster of an evening that you had caused solely by overthinking your own importance. “I just wanted to make sure, I don’t know, Dave seems great…I just wanted to make sure he’s like…with us?”

There is a long pause on the other end. You can hear him smoking, likely he is still working at the shop, doing whatever it is that a mob boss does on a Friday night. You can hear a few muffled voices on the other end, and you decide it’s better to not even try and guess what it might be about. He chuckles into the phone.

“He’s good, kid. You don’t have anything to worry about there. Have a good time.” 

The line goes dead.

You stop walking. 

_Fuck._

You turn and look back at the building you had just retreated from. You consider your options - suck up your pride and go back, apologize for overreacting, try and have a good time, possibly go home with him for mediocre sex, and then for sure regret it tomorrow when you explain it all to your roommates. 

You choose the other option, the one that is most like you. You turn and start walking towards the subway. No way you could afford a cab back to Brooklyn on a Friday night, and no way were you calling your friends for help and admitting defeat.

You didn’t completely overreact, you reasoned with yourself. Mixing work with pleasure had always been a bad idea, and this was proof of that. You would not be doing this again. You had a strict line, and should have kept it. There was work on one side. And then you’d carve out a place for pleasure that was so far from work, the two could never ever coexist. 

You swipe your subway card as your phone buzzes in your hand. It's a message from Dave. You ignore it. But when your phone buzzes two more times, you roll your eyes and unlock your phone.

_Dave: Will u at least let me know u got home safe? Pls I know I screwed up but still wanna know ur ok_

You smile at the message. Even though you’d accused Dave of wanting to murder you tonight, he still wanted to know you were okay. He really was a gentleman. 

A gentleman that would have to _strictly_ be a work colleague, you remind yourself. No matter what he decided to gift you with, or how nice he was, or how stupidly handsome he looked - he would remain a work colleague _only_. You text him back a simple thumbs-up emoji. 

You stare down the subway platform. You have a few minutes to wait before your train comes. It was going to be quite a commute home. You almost can’t believe you haven’t already collapsed into a nervous heap.

You feel your phone buzz again with another message from Dave. You’re slightly annoyed, but you know if Tony trusted him, then at least you could trust him. You suppose his heart had been in the right place, wanting to make it a special night. But you’re starting to think Dave didn’t know a thing about dating. You weren’t about elaborate gifts or lavish outings, and you didn’t think you gave that impression. You look at his message and are surprised to see it’s by far the longest message you’d ever received. 

_Dave: U don’t ever have to speak to me again. I wud totally understand. but I need u to know how sorry I am. can’t imagine what you were thinking or feeling tonight. I just really wanted to impress u and i completely blew it. I hope u can forgive. But if not, i understand. Have a goodnight._

You read it over several times while still waiting for the train, thinking of the best way to reply. Finally, after you’d settled on your seat and are speeding back to Brooklyn, you manage to type out a message. 

_You: you’re forgiven. but this is a bad idea. This isn't because you didn’t impress me. You’ve already done that. You didn’t need to do anything MORE to impress me tonight that’s why I agreed to go out with you. I’m sure our paths will cross again but i think its best not to mix business and pleasure, right? Have a good night, Mr. York._

You hit the send button. With that, you are sure that you have closed the shared narrative between yourself and Mr. York. It’s sad for a moment, but you know it’s for the best. You consider blocking his number just to be sure, but there is a nagging feeling in the back of your head that tells you not to. There was nothing more to be had between you and Mr. York, but you save his number. Just in case. 

**⁌♡⁍**


	5. (5) the dress [pt1]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony and frank make you an offer you can't refuse.

⁌♡⁍ **  
**

Your hands sweat in the rubber gloves as you scrub the stainless steel. The sink is large, but it’s always kept relatively clean, yet here you stand, scrubbing it for what must be the third time with hardcore bleach. It’s the kind that makes your eyes sting and your headlight. The sink is spotless now, you know it is, but it’s something that makes you look busy and it keeps you from working in the back room, so you’ll do it again.

The shop had been closed for all of five minutes. You had locked the front door, your lobby was pristine. Trash was out, machines were cleaned, inventory taken, cash counted, safe secured. There was literally nothing else for you to do. But Tony had asked you to stay behind a few minutes in order to receive an important package. The way he said it left little room for discussion, and you’d agreed. It was obviously very important to him, and since he would be occupied, he couldn’t wait for it himself. Apparently, he trusted you enough to handle it.

There was another meeting tonight, and from the little info you got from Tony, you figured Dave would be in attendance. You hadn’t spoken or texted him since the fateful night, and though you knew you were only delaying the inevitable, you weren’t quite ready to see him face to face. It was…partially embarrassment, partially guilt. You had been replaying that night in your head for the last week and every time, you beat yourself up over it. Should you have stayed? Was it right to run? Did Dave think about what happened as much as you did? Did he hate himself too or has he already forgotten it and moved on to another woman?

And that is how you find yourself here, stalling, hoping that Mr. York was on time and went straight to the basement so you wouldn’t have to face him. It makes you nervous and tense and frustrated just thinking about it. You scrub the sink harder.

You still weren’t sure if Tony or Frank were even aware of what happened. Neither of them had mentioned it. Obviously Tony had known you went out with Dave, and if Tony knew, Frank likely knew too. Frank liked to tease you about your dating life, mostly spurred on due to your less than stellar history in your two years in working at the coffee shop. If Dave had mentioned taking you out to Tony, did he tell them how it ended too? 

You considered both Tony and Frank to be like second fathers. Or at least really close uncles. You had your own father, obviously, and you loved him dearly, but he lived across the country. For several years now, your father had been a dean at Stanford, working in higher education, and bouncing from one Ivy League school to another. He had always been supportive of you, though he emphasized the importance of a college education. When the time came, between his influence and your achievements, it was no trouble to get into a good school in the one place you’d always dreamed of going - New York City. 

Columbia University was impressive, full of opportunities, and your father had been ecstatic. You made it all of one semester before you dropped out. You knew college wasn’t where you were meant to be, and instead took work in coffee shops and bars, skipping around, crashing on couches, carefree and with no real end goal - something your father couldn’t stand. 

Eventually, this led you to _Espresso Yourself_. And to Tony and Frank. They had welcomed you with open arms. As serious as Tony seemed, he appreciated your relaxed attitude and was impressed by your service record. You may have had issues with settling in one place, but you were good at what you did. They asked if you could take orders as well as give them, and you said sure. You’d been quickly promoted during your time here, and you were closer with both your bosses and coworkers here than any other job you had. It was a strange little family you had found here in Brooklyn, but for once it kept you rooted.

You hear the back door open, and you freeze. You don’t want to know if it’s Dave or someone else entirely, but it takes every ounce of self-control not to turn and peek. You focus again on the sink to appear busy in case the person considers bothering you. When a minute passes in silence, you have to assume that the individual has proceeded to the basement. 

You turn slowly and glance at the door to the back. There’s no one there.

Tired of pretending, you slip off the gloves and leave them on the edge of the sink, and you sneak to the door to the basement. This is the only time you’d ever even considered doing this, but your desire to know if Dave York is a mere few feet from you is overwhelming. You can just faintly make out a voice and you lean closer, trying to see if you can identify who it might be. 

“Package for ya,” the sudden announcement scares you, and you let out a gasp and jump around to see a man in a slick-looking suit holding out an envelope for you to take. You had been so focused on your attempt at eavesdropping you hadn’t heard a whole other person enter the store. You wince. That was something you’d scold yourself for later.

After you sign off on his pad to confirm the delivery, you realize now that you have the envelope, you need to get the envelope into Tony’s hands. Meaning you need to go down the stairs. Into the basement. Into his office. You stare at the door for at least two full minutes contemplating the consequences of breaking this unspoken barrier you had created in order to protect yourself. You glance back down at the envelope and your other hand tightens into a fist.

In a few steps, you return to the door, and instead of just leaning in to listen, your hand comes to grip the doorknob. There was no going back after this, and you knew it. 

You open the door and look down the stairs. It looks normal. Of course it looks normal. What did you expect? A pile of dead bodies? A bunch of guns hanging on the walls? Stacks of money? You have no idea. But you walk down the stairs tentatively, glancing around, not wanting to take any of Tony’s men off guard. 

When you get to the bottom of the stairs you’re even more surprised when there isn’t….more. It’s just a boring, regular room. A few posters are tacked up on the walls, with chairs scattered here and there and a table in the corner with some playing cards. So some of the stereotypes were real then, you note. 

There are three doors, and you can hear voices coming from one of them so you decide that must be Tony’s office. As you near the door, you can make out Frank’s loud voice. You wonder if they’re arguing about something. Knowing it would be best to just get it over with, you knock and wait. 

“Come in,” Tony calls. The door is unlocked, and you enter the office.

The office is relatively small, enough to host several people, but tonight there are much fewer than you expected. Tony sits behind his desk, Frank lounging comfortably in a large chair in the corner, and Dave York sits with his arms crossed looking between the both of them. You had thought surely there would be more people like usual, but you supposed you had kept as far as you could tonight and had no idea who came in. Seeing that it’s only Dave with them, you get even more nervous. You glance at him too long, and he lifts his head to make eye contact with you. It pins you in the spot for a moment, but you quickly look away even as he sits up and bows his head to you. You cross the room in one stride and hand the envelope to Tony. “Here’s that delivery for you Tony.”

He reaches out and takes it from you, runs his hands over the envelope to feel the contents, and nods when he’s satisfied. “Thanks, kid,” he says. You think he’s about to dismiss you when Frank speaks up.

“You know…she would work, Tony.” You turn slightly, looking to Frank with a genuinely confused expression. Frank looks you up and down as he takes another long drag of his cigar, and you feel like you’re being analyzed. 

“Absolutely not.”

You turn in surprise at the forceful tone of Dave’s voice. He said it so sharply, you can only wonder at what conversation you walked into. You stand up straighter and look to Tony for direction. Whatever Frank’s suggesting, Dave is nearly seething. 

“I’m not so sure,” Tony leans back in his chair and steeples his hands in front of his face as he considers you. You shift uncomfortably, hating that they’re talking about you like you’re not there. It was awkward enough to be in the same room as your two bosses and your ex-date, and here you are being treated like some opportunity.

“Oh come on!” Frank jumps up from his chair with his cigar hanging loosely from his mouth. “The two of you already know each other. She’s mostly aware of the situation. She’s a beautiful woman, we can all agree, which would help with the cover - ”

“No,” Dave says it again with such force you can’t help but look at him. 

“I have to agree with Dave,” Tony says. “I don’t think she’s quite suited for that.”

“Am…am I allowed to ask any questions this time?” you finally stammer out, curiosity getting the better of you. Frank chuckles at your tone. 

“You are smart,” he taps the side of his nose, “and careful. Always ask the right questions.” He reaches to clasp your shoulder and gives you a tight squeeze. You think it’s meant to be reassuring. “Fellas, she’s the solution. And from the expression on Tony’s face, you know it too.” 

“It’s risky,” Tony finally says after a moment of silence. 

“It’s too big of a risk,” Dave adds. You glance in his direction to find his face is set in a hard scowl. Whatever they are talking about, you can see he doesn’t like it, not one bit. He turns and his eyes meet yours. The set of his brows make you think perhaps he’s angry at you, but he gives the same look to Frank. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t register changing your own expression, but something happens as you share a look with the one man you’d been avoiding, and a crease forms on his forehead. He almost looks concerned. 

“How about we let her decide?” Frank takes his hand off your shoulder and turns to face you. “I’ll spare you the details. But Dave here needs a date. To a very important party.”

You swallow. 

“Okay…” It’s all you can think to say. Do they know what happened last Friday? They seemed to be talking business, but a date to a party didn’t seem much related. As you look to Dave again, he gives the slightest shake of his head. “Can I at least know what the party is about?” 

It couldn’t hurt to ask. Context seemed important here. You don’t want to go on a second date with Dave. Well, _you’re pretty sure_ you don’t want to go on a second date with Dave. But if he is _telling_ you not to go, then you decide it’s probably best to listen because how awkward is that date going to be if he doesn’t even want you there. 

“Party is describing it casually. There is a gala being held for some friends of ours, and you will need to act as escort to Mr. York.” Tony leans back in his chair, rubbing his fingers under his chin. You know he is considering it, thinking about what this would mean. 

“I don’t know,” you look at Dave again who’s expression hasn’t changed. He is still intensely staring you down, probably trying to imagine a hole through the side of your head. “I’m not exactly cut out for fancy stuff like that. I wouldn’t have anything to wear.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Frank exclaims. “Look at you! That’s an easy fix. You’ll be a natural. Plus the way Dave here looks at you, you’ll have no trouble getting along.”

“I don’t know,” you shuffle your feet on the floor, embarrassed by the implication of Frank’s statement. “Will it be…dangerous?” 

You look to Tony for this one. Tony would consider all the angles, and you doubt he would risk your safety. Of everyone in the room, you trust him the most. He eyes you with an unreadable expression. 

“Of course not. It’s just a party!” Frank exclaims. “There is nothing you need to worry about.” He notices your hesitation. “This would come with generous compensation, kid. Very generous.” 

“Yeah?” They had your attention, but now Frank has your curiosity. You wouldn’t mind a bonus before Christmas.

“What sounds fair to you, Tony? I was thinking, what, five grand?”

“I’m sorry _what?_ ” You’re positive you heard him wrong. Five grand is more than they pay you in a month. Five grand is more than you’ve ever had in your bank account at one time. Five grand is so much money, you cannot comprehend what you would do with it. Well…you could think of a few things.

“If that’s not enough, I could be convinced to go up to seven. That’s how important this party is to us.”

“Mr. Castle, I can’t possibly accept seven grand to attend a party.” It seems a little ridiculous. But seven grand is seven grand. 

“Of course it’s possible. I can write the check tonight if you promise to clear your calendar for next Saturday.” He’s serious. Really, actually serious.

You’re stunned. You don’t know what to say. Seven thousand fucking dollars. You could start a savings account. Were you going to finally become a responsible adult with your money? You cannot fathom it. You could pay off your credit cards. Fuck. That sounds too good to be true. But you just nod at him. You couldn’t turn down an offer like this. Seven thousand dollars meant you might be able to take a vacation. You might be able to afford to go home for the holidays. Maybe even get your parents something nice to show them how far you’ve come. 

You nod your head with more conviction as you think of the possibilities. “Alright then,” you say, “I’ll do it.”

“I still don’t like this,” Dave says as he stands and puts his hands on his hips, looking between Tony and Frank. 

“You don’t have to like it, David. You just have to do your job,” Frank says pointedly. 

“She isn’t ready for something like this and if - ” 

Tony holds his hand up and cuts Dave off instantly. 

“She doesn’t need to do anything. In fact, I expect her _not_ to do anything. Do I make myself clear?” Tony says. Dave relents and nods to Tony. 

“Sweetheart, all you have to do is stand next to Dave and look nice. Which should be no issue for you,” Frank winks in your direction. You smile as you roll your eyes before chancing a look at Dave. He isn’t looking at you, but you can tell he is upset by this new set of circumstances.

“Why don’t you go ahead and finish closing up the shop?” Tony nods towards the door. “We have a few more things to discuss here. You have a good night.” 

You nod an affirmative, stepping over to the door and leaning into it as you exit.

“Hey,” Dave’s soft call stops you in your tracks, and you slowly turn to look back at him. “If you have any questions, you have my number, right?” He sounds unsure of himself for once, and you notice how his hand reaches toward you for a moment before retracting.

“Yes, Mr. York. I do. Thanks, Frank, Tony, I’m glad I can help…I guess.” 

Each of them waves or nods in acknowledgment, and you slip out of the room and gently close the door behind you. Not a moment later, you practically sprint up the stairs before shutting that door too.

Upstairs, the back room is quiet and empty, and you stand there just breathing, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. Did you just agree to work for the mob? 

⁌♡⁍

“Okay, but why do they call it blue raspberry? Raspberries are red,” Whitney slurps down the slushie you had brought back from the bodega. Her tongue is stained a ridiculous blue, and she looks at the cup with a skeptical expression. “I’m not complaining, cause this artificial stuff is the shit. But still, makes you think.”

You don’t look away from the screen of your laptop, even though you’d been absent-mindedly staring for the last ten minutes anyway. It was another slow Sunday morning in the apartment. Everyone was absorbed in their own minor tasks, content to sit in silence as each of you tackled whatever you needed. You were looking into paying off your credit cards now that you had a pretty significant amount of money coming your way. God, you sound _so old._

You hadn’t mentioned to your roommates anything about the gala you would be attending. Or, more importantly, the check you would be receiving. You knew that if you were to casually mention your bosses were going to give you a _seven thousand dollar_ bonus, there would be a lot of questions you didn’t want to answer. So you kept it quiet. 

There was something else you were avoiding talking about, even if just to avoid the man himself. There were details to this event that you would need more information about, including time and location…you reach your hands up to rub at your temples. This better not be the failed date happening all over again. It was probably a good idea to consider exactly what you needed to do for the gala, but you really, really, really didn’t want to think about what that meant for you and Dave. Unfortunately, it was as though he knew you were thinking about him when you see a new message on your phone. 

Dave: _u home?_

The sudden text surprises you. He hadn’t texted you back since you essentially ended all possibilities between you, and from his comment back at the coffee shop, you assumed he would wait for you to text him first. You wince. The one thing you had put off, and now he of course reached out to you. The message steals your attention while you try to think how to reply, but evidently, Whitney notices and reaches for your phone before you can stop her. 

“Oh my god,” she takes a long sip of her drink as she sits up, “you told me you blew this guy off.”

“I did,” you say as you reach for your phone, but Whitney reaches behind her for Jesse to casually snatch up and look through the messages. You hadn’t deleted the previous texts he sent after the date, and you scramble to get up before they read too much into it. 

“What happened on this date?” Jesse looks up from your phone as you swipe it back. “And I thought he was just a customer?”

“He was. And nothing happened. I told you I got a weird vibe on the way there, so I stood him up,” it wasn’t a complete lie you try to convince yourself. You had definitely gotten a weird vibe, an ‘I’m about to be murdered by the mob vibe.’ You just thought that part would be a little harder to explain to your roommates.

“Well, then why is he asking if you’re home on a Sunday morning?” Whitney looks at you with a suggestive grin. 

“Nothing, I repeat, _nothing_ happened between us. He’s way too old for me anyway,” you mumble the second part. Now that your phone is safely in your hands, you take the chance to reread the message just as another comes in. And then three more pop up in rapid succession.

Dave: _It’s business related.  
_ _About the party  
_ _Not anything else  
_ _Promise_

Your lips twitch up in a smile. 

“Yeah, nothing happened. Sure,” Whitney rolls her eyes. She takes another annoyingly loud slurp of her drink as she stares you down. “He must like you a lot if you stood him up and he is still texting you.”

“Yeah, it’s not like that,” you mutter as you type out a reply. Both girls share a glance while you’re distracted before simultaneously mocking your ‘it’s not like that’ in annoyingly high-pitched voices. You flip them off and make your way to your room, slamming the door to let them know exactly how you feel about it. 

You: _Yeah, I’m home. What’s up?_

With Tony’s reassurance that Dave could be trusted, you didn’t feel as bad about telling him personal information. You knew if something were to happen to you, and Dave was the one responsible, Tony would be none too pleased that one of his own went behind his back. Tony valued loyalty above all else, and though you may not truly be a part of his business, it was still obvious that you were under his protection. Dave wouldn’t stand a chance. 

You sink onto your bed and wait for his reply. You knew he never usually took long to respond unless he said he was going to do something. But when about ten minutes tick by with no response, you consider texting him again to make sure everything is okay. 

You might have if you were still on good terms, but now it felt silly. He probably was busy doing something and felt no need to explain that. Which was completely understandable, you tell yourself. He didn’t owe you that, not really. You stand and walk to your dresser before turning back to your bed. Twelve minutes now. You were just a colleague. Nothing more. 

You lay down on your bed. You don’t want to face the shame of returning to the living room, where your laptop was currently sitting. So you just stare at the ceiling pondering if you had made the right decision in taking the money.

You perk up slightly when you hear a knock on the door. You often got visitors at the apartment, usually for one of your roommates. Sam was the lady of any hour, with more friends or boyfriends stopping by than you could keep up with. She was the type of woman that anyone could be attracted to with her steady presence and a good sense of humor. That wasn’t even mentioning her perfect curled hair and gorgeous dark eyes. Sam was your best friend and your closest confidant, and you usually were sidelined by others when she was around.

Maybe that’s why you had liked Dave so much. You loved the idea of being wanted, of being someone’s first priority. With Dave, it had been different. He actually listened to you, asked real questions, seemed so interested in your opinion and in what you had to say. It was impossible to find that. You had tried. God, you had tried. 

There’s a knock on your bedroom door. 

“Go away, Whitney! I want to be ALONE,” you shout.

The door creaks open and you see Whitney with the smuggest, stupidest grin on her face as she takes another long slurp of her drink and leans on the doorframe. 

“Yeah, well, you got a visitor,” she jerks her head to the entry behind her, and you can hear Jesse quietly conversing with a man. “He’s way hotter than you said.”

You sit up quickly, confused at what she could mean. “What? Who?” It’s clear she’s enjoying herself a little too much, and the expression on her face only annoys you further. 

“ _Dave_ ,” as soon as his name falls off her lips she takes the longest, loudest sip possible of her drink, all while maintaining eye contact. 

You freeze at the sound of his name. He couldn’t possibly have just shown up at your house? He wouldn’t just do that. You check your phone, but there are no new messages. Yeah, no. He would do that. The way Whitney is still grinning at you is what tips you over the edge. When you pass by her, you make sure to bump into her drink, not caring if it spills. You don’t even bother to turn when she yelps. 

Sure enough, it’s him. Dave Fucking York. Standing here in your apartment. Like it’s nobody’s fucking business. He’s wearing a navy suit and blue shirt with a black tie, looking like he came from work and is way too fancy to be standing in your home. Even if his choice in tie is atrocious. His arms are crossed as he listens to whatever Jesse was talking about. When you enter the room, he straightens and unfolds his arms. 

“Hey,” he says softly, giving you a polite smile. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought we could go ahead and get the stuff for the party Saturday.”

“Wait, what party on Saturday?” Whitney inserts herself into the conversation, dabbing at a spill on her shirt. “I wanna go.”

You turn toward her with flared nostrils. You are about to lose your cool completely when Dave casually puts his hand on your shoulder, surprising you. You look up at him as he quickly covers for you. 

“It’s an employees-only event. Which is unfortunate, because I would have loved to take all you lovely ladies,” you can hear the flirtatious tone, and you roll your eyes as you brush his handoff. 

“Wait, you’re an employee?” Whitney cocks her head as she steps in between you and him. “I thought - ”

You panic, about to step in when Dave interrupts for you.

“Yeah, I was a recent hire. I work in - ”

“Security,” you finish for him. “But he’s based at a different location.”

Dave nods along, obviously practiced with finding a cover story, and seems to appreciate that you keep up with him. “I work at the one that just opened in Williamsburg. I do the security for the entire Brooklyn area though, so I get around.”

“You get around, huh?” Whitney jumps in again, and you meet Jesse’s eyes across the front room. You attempt to give her the best ‘help me’ look but it probably looks more like ‘kill me’ because she just shakes her head and shrugs.

“Yeah, so Dave, what exactly did you need?” You cut him off deciding you didn’t like where this conversation was heading. Or that it was happening. At all.

“I was around the shop, and they mentioned you need to pick out your dress.”

It takes you several seconds to process this information. You are playing a delicate game right now. You don’t want to say anything suspicious in front of your friends, but you also need to decipher whatever message Dave is trying to relay to you. 

“Yes, I do…but it’s in The City. So I seriously doubt you wanna make a trip across the bridge, for little old me.” You knew it was probably going to be necessary to get a dress for this, the little short ones in your closet wouldn’t cut it for a gala if it was as fancy as they implied. But, what, was Dave offering to take you shopping?

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s on 5th right? Shouldn’t be too busy if we leave soon,” he casually flicks his wrist up to glance at his watch. “Where was it again?”

Whitney looks at you, stunned. “Wait, you ordered a dress for an important party…without consulting me?”

“Yeah, maybe I did, if you look in your closet, you’ll know why,” you snap at her. She looks at you in disgust, but you ignore her and turn back to Dave. “Well, I’d love to, but I’m really super busy today actually so - ”

“No, you’re not.” Jesse interrupts. You throw her a look of betrayal. 

“Actually, Jesse, I am. I have to go to the bank today - ” Whitney snickers, and you glare at her. You consider strangling her before she speaks.

“Why? You don’t have any money,” she just smiles at you. 

You are about to jump her when the front door unlocks and Sam walks in. She looks up in surprise at all of you gathered there. You breathe a sigh of relief–Sam would help you out of this, you knew you could count on her. 

“Well, hello everyone,” she says as she looks Dave up and down. He extends his hand and introduces himself, and her eyes light up in recognition. “I suppose I should thank you for making our apartment smelling so nice last week.”

“Guilty,” Dave throws his hands up, and he seems to relax at being well received. 

You try to ignore how it seems like you’re losing the favor of your friends with him here. You have to intervene before it gets worse, and pointedly look at Sam when you speak, trying to get her to understand what Jesse and Whitney did not. “Well, Dave was just on his way out because we had that _thing_ today, and I don’t want to reschedule.”

“What’re you talking about? I’m going out with Josh again in like,” Jesse looks down at her phone. “In an hour.”

The utter betrayal of your roommates. You hate them. You loathe them. You would stand by and watch as they perished at the hands of the mob. You look between the three of them, all of them are looking at you with a smug sense of purpose. They didn’t misunderstand. They were doing this on purpose. You finally turn to Dave. 

“I usually wouldn’t be so insistent, but bosses’ orders.” He looks at you intently, pursing his lips. He’s being earnest for the moment, trying to convince you one last time to go with him. The wrinkle in his brow speaks to it, and it’s only the fact that he’s trying, really trying that finally makes you cave. You don’t know if it’s true, him only being here at Tony’s insistence, but you’re not sure you care to know. 

“Fine. Let me go change at least. Since it’s on _fifth_ avenue,” you say, emphasizing the words you know Whitney would be most jealous of. If shopping were a job, Whitney would never have to work another day in her life, she loves it that much. At least you could have that small pleasure of being able to rub it in.

You turn and march into your room, furious at the audacity of your friends, forcing you to go out with this guy. Of course, they only know that you really did like him before the date. And then that suddenly you didn’t. Well, you think you didn’t like him anymore. They probably thought they were doing you a fucking favor. If only they knew. 

You take longer than necessary to get ready. Your stalling was a sign you were a sore loser, but after they ganged upon you, you figure all four of them deserve it. You didn’t want Dave to think he’d won. And you really don’t want your roommates to think they were allowed to get away with this.

A smaller part of you feels relief. You knew you were putting off talking to Dave too, and maybe, just maybe, it would be easier to finally talk in person. You could rethink a text a hundred times and it still wouldn’t be right, but if he’s there, maybe you could force yourself to just say it. Whatever _it_ was. 

Maybe you could finally apologize for the disastrous first date, for assuming the worst of him. Maybe you could demand an explanation, let him know how messed up the date seemed. You had your chance now, and perhaps you could mend this relationship to be cordial again. Find a friend in your sort-of-coworker. You know you’d need to be okay for Saturday. It was good that you were starting now.

When you return to the living room, you’re surprised to find all four of them happily chatting and casually lounging as if they had been friends for years. Dave looks completely relaxed, amused even. He’s sipping on a glass of water as he listens to whatever Whitney is animatedly talking about. You may not know Dave that well, but you are almost positive that he is not interested in what she has to say. But from his expression, you’d never know. 

When you enter the room everyone looks up. 

“Ready?” you ask.

“Let’s do it!” He stands up, looking more than relieved. “I have to thank you all. When she mentioned her crazy roommates I was nervous, but you’re all much nicer than I anticipated.”

You can see Whitney visibly blush. You roll your eyes as you grab his arm and start to drag him out the door. 

“Right, let’s go, Casanova,” you mutter. 

“I’ll see you, ladies, around!” Dave waves at your roommates, and they all offer him a chorus of friendly goodbyes. You turn to look at them and they are all giving you a thumbs up. You flip them off as you go to close the door. 

“Be safe!” Whitney calls out as you close the door. “And use protection!”

She sneaks in the last part just in time, so it’s impossible that Dave didn’t hear it. He turns and looks at you, and you offer him an awkward grin and shrug. You don’t say anything as you make your way down the stairs and out into the sunshine. You recognize his car, no less impressive than the first time, and wait for him to unlock it. 

He approaches the passenger side door at the same time, and you both go to reach for the handle. You pull away on instinct, but so does he, before you both reach forward again. You let out a forced laugh, and he smiles before you finally relent. As you finally crawl into the passenger seat, you internally groan at how painful the next few hours of your life are going to be. 

There had to be some way out of this. As much as you wanted things to go back to normal, maybe it really was too late. You had a feeling he was very much still trying to impress you, and you needed to put a stop to it before it went too far. Unfortunately, when problems like this came up, you resorted to one tactic: run away. You’d done it once with him already though, and yet here you sat in the passenger seat of his car. Obviously, that was not going to work.

You sit silently as Dave hops into the car, turning the keys in the ignition and effortlessly pulling into traffic. You try and think of the best way to bring up how sorry you still feel without making this car ride more awkward than it already felt. Or maybe start any other conversation.

You and Dave sat in silence as he turned out of your neighborhood, as he headed in the direction of Manhattan. You could ask how…work was? If he saw any more dogs recently? You wanted to bang your head against the dash. Instead, you shift in your seat and stare out the window. The only thing that was making you feel better, was the fact that he failed to start a conversation too. At least he had the excuse that he was driving. 

The silence was deafening. The longer it lasted, the more it ate at you. It’s been twenty minutes, going on thirty now. You debate whether you should ask to turn on the radio or try and start small talk. What did normal people talk about? The cloud cover recently was pretty thick, you note.

You glance over at him in the driver’s seat, and you see him fidgeting too. He straightens when he notices you look in his direction, and his hands shift on the wheel. You can’t stand it anymore.

“It’s crazy about those clouds - ”

“Listen, I wanted to say - ”

You both speak at the exact same moment and cut each other off. You smile shyly as you try and apologize for interrupting him and he looks at you, apologizing for interrupting. You both look at each other and start to laugh. 

“This is awkward, isn’t it?” He says it with a hint of a smile in his voice. 

“Um, yeah.” You breathe out, relieved you’re not the one who has to say it. But you are the reason it is awkward in the first place. “Yeah, it is, and I’m sorry about that. It’s my fault and I feel stupid for it,” you twist your hands in your lap trying to avoid looking at him. 

“What? How is this your fault? You’re fucking smart for thinking the way you did,” Dave exclaims. “I’m an idiot. I…well, I didn’t think it through. Obviously.”

You laugh, wrinkling your nose. “Maybe not,” you give him. You look up to him finally, already at ease just from that admission. He seemed to feel not so different from you.

Dave looks over to you at the red light, and you think he’s just relieved you’re not yelling at him. “Can I get a second chance? Or did I blow it?”

You sigh, remembering what you said in your text to him. It wasn’t a good idea, you knew that, but there was a reason you kept going back to this. He walked you home once, and you left him the night you were supposed to have your first date. You never even bothered to really try, and maybe that was what you both needed. “Well, it depends. Is this a hit, Mr. York?” you tease him.

His pleading eyes change when he smiles, and you think you really do want to give him another chance. Whitney was right. He was hotter than you gave him credit for.

“You’re cute,” he says. The light changes and his attention returns to the road. “And no. I’m pretty confident you could outsmart me at this point.”

You can’t help but laugh, it feels like a weight has been lifted. “Really?” you ask, “Tony said you’re the best in the business, but I might need to tell him to rethink that if you’re outsmarted by _me._ ”

Dave laughs. A real laugh. You decide you like it.

“How long have you known?” he asks, turning a little more serious, though he still has a small smile when he glances over at you.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they made it seem like the girls up front weren’t aware of…anything in back. I assumed that you had no idea, it’s part of why I asked you out. I didn’t want you involved.” 

“Oh, well…I don’t really know,” you hadn’t ever really thought about it much before. It seemed it had always just been a part of your job. Now that he’s asking, you try and think of a time when you weren’t aware of Tony and Frank’s other business. When they hired you, you already had enough experience that it wasn’t long before you became morning manager and eventually promoted to store manager. In fact, you had some suspicions at your first interview though you didn’t assume _mob_. You shrug. “I guess I figured it out pretty quickly. But I never said anything. That’s why they kept me around.”

“Yeah, but why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know, why would I?” You look at him, and he looks at you with a skeptical expression. “Should I?”

“I don’t imagine it would make your life easier.”

You huff at that. No, it would not. You turn the conversation back to him, not afraid to take advantage of the moment of truth. “What about you? And don’t tell me about private security again, please David. I know.”

He turns the corner smoothly, driving slow between the buildings of Manhattan. You watch him purse his lips again, but you know he’s not ignoring you. 

“I, well, I was in the marines. Special ops. And then I had a life for some time. But that’s gone now.” You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t so you playfully poke his arm. 

“That’s all?” 

You doubt it’s easy for him to talk about, but you want to know whatever he was willing to share. You scan the side of his face, curious about what he’s thinking. He doesn’t give much away from his expression–his face is set, but he’s focused on driving too and it’s hard to tell if he’s upset or indifferent. 

“There isn’t much else to it.” He shrugs his shoulder, and his voice clear but resigned. “Whatever I had before this, I don’t anymore. So I am trying to figure it all out again,” he doesn’t look at you. Instead, he stares out the front of the car, his hands gripping tighter to the steering wheel as he says it. 

“Did you lose someone?” You ask quietly. 

“In a way,” he looks at you with a sad smile. “Let’s just say she doesn’t want much to do with me anymore, or really, anything to do with me.”

“Oh, I see now,” you nod along. “An ex-lover threw you into a mid-life crisis. So now you’re compensating with the first girl you meet.”

“Sure, something like that,” he smirks at you, and you notice his hands relax on the wheel.

“Okay, can you answer me one thing?”

“Yes.” 

He goes serious again, though not nearly as tense. You appreciate how willing he is to be honest with you. The question you have isn’t that important in the long run, but you had to know.

“Did you really think that was a normal first date? Like sincerely?” 

He hesitates for a moment, wincing as he shifts in his seat “When I say yes, are you going to believe me?” He doesn’t look to you when he says it, but you see his eyes dart to the side.

“I mean, I guess. I just have a hard time imagining what world you come from where that’s considered normal.” The car slows to a stop for traffic, and he opens his mouth to speak before closing it again. “You can tell me, Dave. Whatever it is, I wanna hear it,” you say.

He glances in your direction. “This sounds conceited. I sound like a jerk,” he stares at you with furrowed brows, as if he is asking for permission to continue. 

“Well, that’s nothing new then,” you quip, smirking over at him. 

“Ha,” he rolls his eyes as he considers you. “I just–well, I’ve had the privilege of living at a certain level of luxury for a while. And usually, women-only enjoy the money. Not the man.”

“Wait, you thought you had to buy me off in order for me to like you?” It seemed the more you talked with him, the more levels of sadness you reached. 

“Yeah, I’ve had to do that most of my life,” he tries to laugh it off. 

You can see he almost looks uncomfortable, but you’re so astounded you have to laugh. He throws you a confused look, and you understand he probably thinks you’re laughing at him. There was no way he had to buy off dates. You cannot imagine a world where Dave wouldn’t be considered extremely attractive. Not only that, but he had shown you nothing but respect and kindness. “I’m sorry, Dave, it’s just. You’re hot. You have to know that.” 

“I’m sorry? Did I hear correctly? Did you just compliment me?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” You fidget with your hands as your stomach flutters at the sound of his laugh. 

“Listen, I want to be honest with you. Because, well, you deserve that after our little _mishap_ ,” Dave says, and you huff out a laugh. “I should start with another apology, cause God, I can’t imagine how terrified you must’ve been of me when I walked into that room.”

“Well, obviously not that terrified. I stayed didn’t I?” 

“You did. Which still surprises me. Why did you stay if you thought I was going to…” he makes a motion of slicing across his neck. 

“Kill me?” You laugh. “I’m not totally sure. I guess I figured, if a hitman was hired to kill me, it was probably by the mob, and if that’s true, then it was probably my time.” You think for a minute then you look at Dave with a small smile and nudge his arm playfully. “Or secretly I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. I just got myself worked up for nothing.” 

He shifts in his seat at that, leaning toward you, and one of his hands comes to gently hold your wrist. “Listen, I need you to understand I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you. I understand why…I might have a less than stellar reputation. But, I could never, I _would never, ever_ hurt you,” Dave says in a low voice, but with such conviction and intensity that you can only nod along with his words. “I don’t want you to ever question that again. Okay?”

You nod. You don’t say anything as you consider him for a moment, trying to get a feel for what he wasn’t telling you. 

“I might come across as a little intense, I mean I know I come across as a little intense, but it’s just because I care. And no matter what happens, between us or anything else, I would protect you.”

“Well, I’m honored, Mr. York. I’ve never had a hitman care about me before. Might come in handy if my roommates cross me again.” His thumb runs along the side of your wrist as he turns back to the street, and your breath catches.

“You don’t…mention to people? About me? Or Tony or Frank?”

“You mean the girls?” You look at him in surprise and he nods. You throw back your head and laugh out loud. “Yeah, I casually mentioned that I may or may not have gone on a date with a hitman who may have been trying to kill me, and they were 100% okay with sending me out the door with him on a second date. Ha, no Dave, I’m not that dumb.”

“Is this a second date then?” He raises his eyebrows in your direction. 

“I think we’d actually need to go on a first date for that.”

He grimaced. “That’s fair.”

“Where are you taking me anyway?”

“I’m not sure. Where would you like to go?”

“Wait, I thought you said I was picking up a dress?”

“I said you were picking out a dress. From wherever you’d like, this gala will be pretty upscale, so something fancy would be best.”

You normally shopped at department stores, the mall when you could, and occasionally you and Jesse liked to thrift for fun. Fancy wasn’t usually your goal. “So Sears is out?” 

“Yeah, maybe slightly more upscale.”

“Well, shit Dave, I have no sense of style. My roommates do all that for me.”

“What’re you talking about? You look great.” You roll your eyes in his direction as you whip out your phone. “Who are you calling?”

You open your messaging app, and even though you would probably regret it, you start a text to Whitney. “I’m texting my roommate. Asking where I should go.” 

The two of you hit traffic uptown, and you watch the people walk down the streets.

“Where were you before you came to Brooklyn?” 

“D.C.” 

“Oh, ew,” you turn and look at him. 

“Not a fan?” He laughs as he leans forward to pull onto a side street.

“Is anyone who’s not from D.C a fan?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Okay. Yeah. Sure. ‘Not bad’,” you throw your hands up in a sarcastic way. “Did you grow up there?”

“No, in South Carolina. Near Myrtle Beach” 

“Oh, even more gross.”

He just gives you a look as he casually drapes his arm over the steering wheel as the car slowly creeps forward towards 5th avenue. Your phone pings and you look at the text from Whitney. 

“Whitney wants to know the price limit?” you ask him.

“Uh, none?” Dave shrugs his shoulders as he looks to you. 

“No, but seriously, like a couple hundred?” 

“No limit. It’s important you pick out the perfect dress. This event means a lot to Tony. And you going as my date solves a lot of problems. So I am insisting you pick out whatever you want.” You want to argue, you really do. But you also know that arguing isn’t going to do anything to change Dave’s mind. If he was taking orders from Tony, then that’s what you were going to be doing.

“Whitney is going to go fucking ballistic,” you mutter as you type out your message. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, before you think of another question to ask Dave. He doesn’t seem to mind your curiosity, in fact, he seems comforted by your willingness to listen. And so you don’t stop with the questions, you ask one every few minutes and he replies, which usually leads to you teasing him. Being here with him, like this, feels so natural, and it feels so right. 

“What did you study in college?”   
“I didn’t. I joined the Marines” 

“Do you have any pets?”  
“No.”

“Did you play sports as a kid?”   
“Baseball and basketball. Why?”

“What’s your favorite color?”   
“I’m not really sure…green? I guess.”

“Are you nervous about this party?”   
“No, should I be?”

“I don’t know Mr. York, you seem to know a lot more about it than me.”

“I’ve told you everything you need to know. You don’t need to do anything. Maybe dance to a song or two.”

“Whoa, you never mentioned dancing,” you try and sound indigent. You turn and look out the window at the building passing. You loved the city. You loved that feeling of driving into Manhattan, the overwhelming sense of the enormity of the city, how small you always felt as the car passed by the skyscrapers and hoards of people. It never failed to amaze you, that feeling, and the deep love and deep loyalty you felt all the way down to your bones for this city.

You can feel Dave’s eyes on you, but you ignore it and focus as the car turns down the waterfront. It’s a crisp fall afternoon in New York City, and everything looked so serene. Perfect.

“Can I hear you say it?”

“What?” You turn and look at him. He’s got that crease between his brows again as he stares out the windshield.

“Can I hear you say that you trust me enough to know I won’t hurt you? Ever?” He looks back to you and meets your eyes. You tilt your head and consider him. 

“I trust you, David York. I do. I hope I don’t come to regret that.” And you do, oddly enough. 

“And I will make sure you don’t.” He smiles at you, circling the block.

“You know, I don’t think I should trust anyone who thinks they can find parking on 5th on a _Sunday afternoon_. Honestly, Dave, we should’ve taken the train.” 

“I thought you said you trusted me?” He throws you a wink as he pulls out his phone. “Let me worry about the parking. You worry about your dress.”

As you sit here in the passenger’s seat of Dave York’s car, you think for a moment how only a few days ago, you would have run at the sight of him. Now, preparing to go to one of the craziest events you’d ever go to, you think just maybe trusting him was the best thing you may ever do.

⁌♡⁍


	6. (5) the dress [pt2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dave takes you shopping, you want to complain the whole time.

⁌♡⁍

“Okay, Whitney says that she will only speak to me again if we go to Versace and D&G? What’s D&G?” 

You take a sip of your iced coffee as you read the text. You had insisted that the two of you stop to get some form of refreshment before setting off on what you were sure was going to be a journey. Dave had gotten himself a small black coffee, and you swear he had drained it in two seconds flat. But if that’s what got him through this, you didn’t care.

Dave, it would appear, knew very little about fashion. You knew even less. If you had anything of style, it most likely came from one of your roommates. An outfit was just an outfit to cover your naked body. Sure you wanted to make sure you looked presentable but beyond that? You didn’t really care to get invested. Whitney had thought the devil possessed you when you said this and had attempted on several occasions to try and ‘refine your style’ as she liked to put it. She always failed. 

“Dolce & Gabbana.” You turn and raise an eyebrow at Dave’s quick response. He looks a bit sheepish before grinning. “You aren’t the first woman I’ve had to take dress shopping. Though, I have to say you are the most beautiful.”

“Ew,” you roll your eyes at his flirting and he just smiles. “So I guess we just go to these stores? And buy a dress for me then? But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well…what are you wearing?”

He shrugs as you walk down the street. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Wait, you dragged me out here and you don’t even know what you’re going to wear? That’s not fair.” You look over to him, furrowing your brow before taking another sip.

“Why’s that?”

“Because! Why are we focusing on me? You’re going to the party too.”

“We are focusing on you because everyone else needs to be focusing on you. Besides, who wouldn’t?” 

“Again, _ew_ , Dave.” You look down at your phone and start following directions to Dolce & Gabbana. Dave follows closely behind. “So is there anything special I need to consider with this dress?”

“It’s a formal gala, so I would say as fancy as you feel comfortable with.” 

You look up from your phone to glare at him. “That’s not what I mean.” 

“What _do_ you mean then?” He edges closer to you as he says it, acting like a convenient barrier between you and the crowd of shoppers as you glance at your phone to see how much farther to the shop.

“Are you going to be working at this event?” you ask him, trying to suggest there was a specific reason the two of you were attending a gala at your bosses’ behest.

“No. It’s _just_ a party.” 

You know he’s lying just from the tone of his voice, and you just tilt your head as you stare him down. He tries to ignore you and actually pay attention to where you’re going, but when he looks back, you narrow your eyes and don’t relent. Finally, he sighs. “You are not going to be working. It’s important you understand that for you, it’s just a party. Nothing more.”

“Right…” you turn back ahead as you trail off. You take another sip of your coffee, now leading Dave through the crowds of tourists towards the tiny dot on your phone.

“Listen, I don’t like this either, but Frank and Tony seem to think you are the best option, and unless I can convince you not to take seven grand?” He says it with an air of hope, but you give him a look. “Then all I can do is protect you.”

“So it is going to be dangerous?” You say it with suspicion. You knew there was likely a darker reason behind this job. After all, Dave was…a hitman.

“No, I wouldn’t - no. Of course not. I didn’t mean that.”

“Either you’re protecting me from danger or it’s not dangerous. Which is it, David?”

“It’s not dangerous,” Dave says quickly. “We can go over the plan later. But for now, I just need you to pick a dress that’ll help take attention away from me.”

You had known this was what you were getting into the moment you walked into the office, the moment Frank offered you the job. You didn’t blame Dave at all, only hoped you could get a better idea of what to expect for Saturday. And if drawing attention was what you had to do, then why not? For one night you’d get to feel special, and you intended to take advantage.

“So you want me to go with something a little slutty?”

Dave sputters for a moment, surprised but amused. “If that’s how you choose to phrase it, sure.” 

“Hmm, okay, fine.”

The two of you push through a hoard of tourists taking pictures of Fifth Avenue in funny poses and you half-smile. Sometimes you forget the wonder of Manhattan, and it was nice to be reminded how grand it was from a different perspective. Then someone bumps into your shoulder knocking you backward slightly and into Dave’s arms, and you immediately are reminded why you hated coming into the City.

“You good?” Dave asks as he helps you get your balance. You nod as you throw a dirty look in the direction of the man who ran into you. 

You arrive at your destination not a moment later, and Dave reaches around to hold the door open into the Dolce and Gabbana. 

The shop practically glows. You step onto marble floors occasionally interrupted by a Persian rug. Glass shelves and cases line the walls and stand in the center of the shop holding up shoes and accessories that probably cost more than you’ve made in your life. Lights shine from the ceiling and around the shelves, highlighting what is likely meant to be their choice items. Despite the opulence of the store, you aren’t even impressed.

Dave steps in beside you, placing a light hand on your lower back. You hold your iced coffee in front of you with both hands. You feel unworthy almost, to be stepping in the store. Museum, really.

“Hi, there! Welcome in!” A woman with a cheery voice and way too much make-up greets you instantly. She startles you with her sudden appearance, and you lean slightly into Dave’s touch as she greets you. “I’m Alexandra. Have you guys shopped with us before?”

“Yes,” you chirp without thinking. You say it because you want her to stop talking to you. You say it because you want this conversation to end as quickly as humanly possible. You’d done the same at many other places to get attendants off your back, but now you’re afraid you’ll embarrass yourself. You can hear Dave let out a subtle chuckle behind your back. 

“Well, welcome back! Just a husband just spoiling his wife then?” 

You’re so taken aback by her comment that you can’t do anything but stare at her with a blank expression. There are several uncomfortable seconds of silence where you all just stand there staring at one another. She shifts her weight uncomfortably as she smiles at the two of you. Finally, Dave decides to rescue the poor woman. 

“Thank you, I think _my wife_ and I have it from here,” he throws her a wink as he starts to lead you through the clothing. 

As soon as Alexandra turns to look away from the two of you, the back of your hand smacks against Dave’s gut and he grunts. Before you can say anything, you feel a sharp pinch on your side, and you snap your mouth shut. 

Dave points further in the store, at one of the back walls. “I think the dresses are back there?” You look closer to what he indicated and see what might be jackets…or a top?

“I guess we could look,” you offer, glad that so far at least Dave is sticking by your side. He’s better than nothing. “Are we allowed to touch things?”

“Yes, I would assume we are allowed to touch things since we will need to _buy_ things.”

“I don’t appreciate the attitude, Dave. If I were to give you a dollar for every time I’ve been in a store like this, you’d have a dollar,” you hissed.

As the two of you walk further in, you admire the gemstone encrusted heels and ridiculously large fur coats. You wonder for a moment if it’s real fur, but decide you don’t really want to know. Instead, you focus on a shirt…no, it’s a dress right next to the coat. The top and the skirt are made of two different fabrics, and the large letters ‘D&G’ are embroidered on the front.

You lean in toward Dave, drawing his attention from the store back to you. “I think that may be the ugliest piece of clothing I have ever seen,” you whisper to him.

His eyes land on the maybe-shirt, maybe-dress, and he laughs. “What about that?” He points to a different rack, and you spot a jacket with a busy print in two of the ugliest colors known to man. 

“Incredible,” you whisper back to him, your shoulder brushing his. “Just when you think it can’t get worse.”

He laughs quietly, and you feel him place a warm hand between your shoulder blades. “Well let’s hope they have a better choice in dresses.”

You come up to where several impressive gowns hang in a variety of colors. You absentmindedly hand Dave your coffee as you go to touch a detail on one of the dresses, gently moving aside fabric to look at the other behind it. You see a tag on the dress, but nothing more than the D&G brand. No price. 

You try to act undeterred but it isn’t easy, and as you look at the options, you get overwhelmed all over again. Dave occasionally points at one and offers his commentary which usually just consists of ‘that looks nice.’ As unhelpful as he is, you appreciate his thought.

You browse a little longer, pausing when you legitimately consider a dress. To your benefit or not, Alexandra seems to take notice and casually interjects into your shopping. When she asks, you mention the event you’re shopping for, try to convey the type of dress you would need. She nods along as though she’s listening, quickly choosing a few dresses from the racks as she chats with you. You’re polite, but you can’t help but gape at a few of the choices she pulls. Before you know it, she’s escorting you to the dressing rooms, Dave following close behind.

You hover behind her as she carefully arranges the dresses, and you work up the courage to ask her a question.

“How am I supposed to know how much these dresses are?” you ask Alexandra as she hands you the first dress to try on.

She looks at you as if you must be joking but doesn’t answer. You catch Dave smirking from where he waits behind you, and you fix him with a look. Sure you were ignorant, but you weren’t going to let anyone make fun of you for it.

Now, standing in the changing room alone staring at the dress you’re supposed to try on, you wouldn’t blame them for making fun of you. Ironically when you put it on, it fit perfectly. It’s a short gown, coming to fall mid-thigh, and you’re not entirely sure that’s appropriate for the gala.

What you _know_ isn’t appropriate for the gala is the feather-fringe trim that hangs from the skirt and sleeves of the horridly itchy pale pink lace sack. It was ugly on the rack, and it’s no surprise it’s ugly on you. You think the only redeemable quality is that for all its faults, at least it wasn’t a struggle to put on, and therefore is no struggle to take off.

There’s a soft knock from outside, and you hear Alexandra’s cheerful voice. “How is everything?”

You can’t stand another minute in this sorry excuse of a dress. “It…doesn’t quite fit right,” you say, wincing at yourself in the mirror.

“Oh, shall I try a different size?”

You scramble out of the dress, aggressively shaking your head as though she could see you. “No! No, maybe just…a different cut?”

You have no idea what you’re saying. You hope she doesn’t notice as you attempt to cover yourself in the silk robe that was provided. She says something to acknowledge you, and then she’s handing you a new dress.

To her credit, this one is a full-length gown, one you would have expected to wear to a gala. It doesn’t look so bad at first glance, though you have to admit the color isn’t one you would have picked yourself. You dismiss Alexandra quickly, hoping to try it on quickly without her bothering you again. You undress again and shimmy yourself into the silk. It feels nice, you note. It would be comfortable. But the way it settles over your hips is restricting, and you shrug at yourself in the mirror. 

You only hear the music that plays in the store, and you decide it would be better to glance at the full set of mirrors outside the small room before the attendant came back. Maybe see if Dave had any opinion of value. You wonder what he’s been doing this time, not hearing a word from him.

“Okay, I’m coming out,” you announce. 

You whip the curtain open and see Dave glancing up from a magazine, before doing a wild double-take, his jaw practically dropping on the floor as he sits up in his seat. Your face heats at his reaction. You turn to the full-length mirror and run your hands over your hips nervously. Dave doesn’t say anything as he just stares at you as you do a little twirl trying to get the full effect. 

“Ugh,” you let out a disgusted sigh and step off the platform in front of the mirror. 

“Is that a sound of disgust or delight?” Dave finally speaks up.

“I look ridiculous.”

“No, you really, really don’t.”

You look at yourself again, critically analyzing the awkward bunch of the fabric over your left hip and the pinched drape of silk over your shoulder. Not to mention the failed attempt at a mustard color. The tag had read ‘yellow’ but for such an expensive item, you’d think they’d come up with a better name. You scrunch your nose at it. Piss, maybe.

Your eyes meet Dave’s in the mirror, and you smirk when you see him admiring your body.

“I can’t believe you like it. I hate it,” you shake your head and return to the changing room. You unzip the side of the dress and step out of it before shrugging back into the silk D&G robe. Poking your head out of the curtain, you check to see if the attendant returned before stepping out to look over the other options the woman had brought. 

Not many are promising, but one catches your eye.

“Hey, what do you think of this?” You hold up a shorter gown with quarter sleeves that sparkles with silver sequins. It might be the best option of what sits before you.

“It certainly calls attention,” Dave offers. 

“Okay, I’ll try it.” You duck through the curtain again and slip off the robe. You call out to him again as you start to get dressed. “Were there any other dresses you thought would work? Should I bother trying them on?”

You hear the sound of a hanger scraping along with the rack, and you assume Dave must be looking at the few other options.

“I honestly can’t picture you wearing any of these,” he responds. “Maybe one? But I don’t think so.”

You laugh a little as you step into the sequined dress. It was a fair assessment you suppose, but obviously, you wouldn’t normally wear anything from this store.

“You think you have me figured out don’t you, Mr. York?” you tease.

“I mean, it is a part of my job description, to figure people out, I mean.”

“Okay, then go ahead, tell me what you know about me,” you say, curious to what he thinks. You slip your arms into the sleeves–it’s a little snug, but not unmanageable.

“Well, let’s see. You’re quiet. Shy almost. But still very friendly. Observant, obviously. You figured me out a lot quicker than I expected, you bite your lip when you’re nervous, and shift your weight to your right side when you’re unsure.”

You don’t say anything as you shuffle to get the dress all the way on and pull down the skirt to get it to sit right. 

“I can tell that you prefer to be alone. You don’t trust people. Maybe because a parent walked out on you,” Dave continues.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, and you struggle to reach back for the zipper. You only get partway up your back, and you realize you’re going to have to ask for help. You pull open the curtain and glance over at Dave before you turn and point over your shoulder at your back. His eyes roam over the bare skin, but without a word, he stands up from the chair and walks over. He easily slips the zipper up your back before resting his hands on your shoulders and turns you to face the mirror. He leans close and speaks softly in your ear.

“I can tell you grew up here in New York. It’s part of the reason you figured me out so quickly. You’ve got street smarts, which comes from growing up in a big city. You didn’t grow up with a lot of money, so that’s why you work as hard as you do and why you didn’t want to accept my gifts. You aren’t close to your family, but I can’t tell why. How am I doing so far?”

You look at Dave with a dangerous smirk. 

“Oh yeah? What else you got, tough guy?” 

“You didn’t go to college. Is it because you didn’t want to, or cause you needed to help out around the house? Is that why you resent your family? How close am I?”

“Oh my,” your hands come up to cover your mouth, “it looks like you’ve got me all figured out.” You step away from him, walking back to the dressing room and you point at your back. “I hate it, so it’s another no.” You point to another dress on the rack. “And I’m not trying that on, so I guess this place is a bust.”

He smiles proudly as he unzips your dress. “So, I guess I am the best in the business then?”

You smile, just turning your head slightly and casting Dave a look. “You would think so.” You close the curtain and step out of the dress. “Except for the part about my parents. They’re still together and both still very much in my life.”

You wait for another long moment, before adding, “And I’m not from New York, I’m from SoCal.”

You slip back into your street clothes, taking longer than was necessary. 

“Oh, and my family is pretty well off. My parents are currently professors at Stanford.” 

When you step out, you beam at the flabbergasted expression he wears. You wink at him before turning to scan over another dress. The whole no prices thing is making choosing one impossible for you. You didn’t like committing to something without knowing exactly how much it costs. 

“So, was anything I said accurate?”

“Umm, no,” you say, distracted. 

“You went to college?”

“Yeah, for a semester,” you don’t look away from the dresses to see his reaction. “Columbia.” You add quickly before he can ask. “But it didn’t work out. Obviously. So, next shop, then?”

“We aren’t going to acknowledge the fact that you got into an Ivy League college?”

“Nope!” You smile and tap him on the nose as you brush past him on your way out of the shop, hoping to slip out before Alexandra can show up again and ask how things went. 

You whip out your phone and start to chastise Whitney for her choice of shop. 

You: _Everything was fucking ugly, you buffoon_

Whitney: _I can’t bless you with style, whore. Try Louis Vuitton for something more flashy. Or Versace might have something more your style  
_ _Tell Dave hi  
_ _Tell him I’m available when you’re done with him_

You just send her the flipping the bird emoji. You look over to Dave as the two of you step onto the sidewalk, and he turns to meet your gaze.

“I get to keep this dress right?” you ask.

“Well, I don’t think it’ll fit me.” 

“I don’t know Dave, You have a pretty stellar figure,” you turn and wink at him as you look at your phone and see that the Versace store is only a couple blocks ahead of you. 

“How about we find it first, then we can decide.”

“That’s fair,” you deflate, knowing that finding the right dress would likely be harder than you originally thought, especially after what Dolce and Gabbana had to offer.

You enter Versace only a few minutes later, and already you start to have hope. This store is easier to navigate. It’s less overwhelming, there’s less to look at, less clutter, and you immediately spot the dress section. 

“Hi, there!” Another friendly-looking woman with a thick European accent, maybe French, greets you. “I’m Sofia, is there something, in particular, I can help you with today?”

She is looking right at you. You are about to answer, but Dave’s arm wraps around your shoulders and he speaks before you can. 

“Hi Sofia, beautiful name,” you roll your eyes at his tone. “My wife and I are going to a gala this next weekend down at Pier 36. And we want to make sure she’s the talk of the party.”

You glare at Dave, imagining if your roles were reversed, you’d be the hitman and he could be the bimbo you cart around. The joke wasn’t funny the first time, and you find it even less funny the second time. 

“Oh wow, of course! I think I have heard of this. Is that the big fundraiser for the Brighter Futures literacy group with Howard Stern?” 

“The very same,” Dave smiles. 

“Such a good cause, I had a friend volunteer with them. She helped ex-gang members learn to read and write their resumes. So I know how important the cause you two are supporting is.”

“What the fuck?” You mutter it without thinking, and you feel Dave’s grip tighten on your shoulder. “I mean…,” you stutter and frantically try to recover. “What the fuck kind of world is it, that we have to rely on celebrities to help repair our society?” 

Sofia nods and smiles politely, agreeable enough to go along with it. Dave raises a brow as he looks at you, and you fight the urge to stomp on his foot. It was his fault you didn’t know anything about this.

As Sofia escorts the two of you into the shop and starts chattering about promotions and all the options Versace has to offer, you turn to Dave.

“What the fuck _is_ this gala?” you hiss at him.

“I told you, it’s just a party,” Dave smiles and you know he’s just trying to placate you. You give him another angry look. Somehow his vague answers were making you regret your decision to attend this party, or whatever the fuck it actually was. 

Sofia helps you pick out three different dresses and settles you into your changing room. You can tell she is unimpressed by your general demeanor, and she leaves without offering any more assistance. You do your best to not be offended and put on the first gown.

To be honest, it’s a disaster. The fabric is nice, but the waistline of the dress seemed oddly high, and when you turn in the mirror, you see the atrocity it’s done for your ass. There was no way you were wearing this in public, and you don’t even bother showing Dave.

Fearing a repeat of the last store, you huff as you look at the next one. The gown is a deep red, made of thick fabric that feels smooth and fairly stretchy. It sports a plunging neckline and an open backcrossed with straps just under your shoulder blades. Once you turn it in your hold, you actually….don’t mind this one. 

It isn’t hard to slip on, and once you pull and stretch it over your body, you’re surprised by how well it seems to fit. Not uncomfortable, tight where it needs to be, but easy to move in. You shift, looking at yourself, and you see the slit in the side that runs almost all the way to your hip. It looks…good, you think and tilt your head. 

“Okay, I’m coming out now!” 

You step out from behind the curtain, hoping Dave’s reaction would tell if this was the dress or not.

You watch as Dave turns from his leaning position on the doorway and his eyes practically bulge out of his skull. He trips over himself as he tries to step away from the wall, and you giggle at his reaction. You turn to look yourself over in the 180 mirror, still glancing to see Dave watch you. 

You can’t help the smile as you see his eyes roam your body, and you find yourself looking intently at the fit of the dress too. The bold color looks good, and you walk and turn in front of the mirrors. It’s not uncomfortable, tight where it needs to be, but easy to move in. You shift, looking at yourself, and you watch as your leg slips from the slit in the side that runs almost all the way to your hip. It looks…good, you think and tilt your head. 

“Do you think it’s enough to get people’s attention?”

You puff out your chest, making sure that if you were to move around, your boobs wouldn’t fall out of the dress. Despite how open the graphic neckline is, the fabric moves with you, covering you just enough. 

“That is the least of my concerns,” Dave breathes out. 

“Oh yeah? And what _are_ you worried about Mr. York?”

You smooth a hand over your hips, turning and finding yourself pleased with how the open back makes your butt look. The more you stare, the more you fall in love with the gown.

“Well, if this is the one, I’ll have to make sure no one else takes you home on Saturday.”

You throw your head back and laugh. You see Sofia peeking around the corner to see if you and Dave had made any progress. When she sees you admiring yourself in the mirror she makes her presence known. 

“Oh my god, you can just _pull_ off that dress. Are we thinking this might be the one?” you can hear the eagerness in Sofia’s voice. She wants to make the sale, and have you be on the way. You look at yourself again. Damn, you really do feel good. Not only do you feel good, you feel _sexy_. You feel _powerful_. You know Whitney would have some ridiculous pair of heels to wear that she’d love to spend the week agonizing over to make sure they are the match, and really anything you would need to accessorize. You look up and make eye contact with Dave in the mirror and he gives the smallest nod and you smile. 

“We’ll take it.”

“It’s the one!”

You and Dave answer her together. You turn and smile at Dave, and he is staring at you with a boyish grin. For a minute you forget that there is another person in the room as you look into his eyes - you feel a fluttering in your chest, the kind that makes your stomach do flips and you feel lighter. He winks at you, and your cheeks heat up as you start to giggle. 

“You two have to be about the cutest couple I have ever seen,” Sofia looks like she would gladly be anywhere else in the world in order to escape this embarrassing display of apparent affection. 

“Thank you, Sofia,” Dave doesn’t stop making eye contact with you as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He flips it open, and without looking away from you, he hands her a card. 

“Nothing else? Maybe some shoes?” You note that Sofia seems a lot more eager to help you now that she’s seen Dave’s credit card, which annoys you beyond belief.

“Just the dress,” Dave comments as he takes a step forward to help you off the pedestal. You hold on to his hand, both of you coming closer to each other, neither letting go even when you stood solid on the ground.

“Great, I’ll be back to get you all wrapped up then!” 

You turn to look at yourself one final time just to confirm that this really was the dress. Dave leans in behind you, lips close to your ear, so close you can feel his breath on your neck. 

“You look perfect,” he murmurs. 

“Thanks,” is all you can manage as you feel your stomach do a flip at his closeness. 

His lips pull in a slight smile as you stand there for a moment, but you straighten, knowing you need to change out of the gown before you leave. His hands leave you, and you step away to pull open the curtain to the dressing room and duck inside. You take a minute to steady yourself on the wall. You aren’t sure what that feeling was that just washed over you but you don’t know if you like it. You had originally decided that getting involved with Dave was a bad idea. Then after you broke your rule, you agreed it was a horrible thought to even consider. This was not happening again. And yet, that entire time, you had….felt something very real. 

But no, you were _not_ supposed to feel anything for Dave York. Nothing. You shake your head. If you felt something more than passing friendship for Dave, it was going to be bad news, so you take a deep breath as you slip out of the expensive piece of clothing and back into your street clothing. Whatever just happened, you would leave behind with the dress you just took off. You needed to clear your mind before you faced him again, and you waited for a second more to steady yourself before opening the curtain. 

Sofia hands over Dave’s card, and he settles whatever else needs to be signed. 

“Let me take that, I’ll be right back with it all ready to go!” She shuffles off with the dress in hand, and you smile up at Dave.

“Please tell me it wasn’t over a thousand dollars?” You grimace at the thought of something so insignificant costing that much. 

“ _You_ ,” he says pointedly, “don’t need to worry about that part.”

You let out a small sigh. 

“Fine. But what about you?” He just looks at you, waiting for an explanation. “You said we’d focus on me, then we would work on you. So, what about you?”

“I told you I’ll figure it out.”

“Exactly, let’s figure it out,” you link your arm in his and start to drag him towards the men’s section. “You do not get to force me to try on all those ridiculous dresses just to avoid the hot seat. Your turn, pal.”

You motion at the rack of dark suit jackets. 

“I have a suit,” he says, clearly distressed at the idea of having to shop for himself.

“Obviously. You need a tux, _honey_ ,” your last word is dripping in sarcasm as Sofia pops back up into view wearing an extremely bright smile as she sees you standing in front of the suit jackets. 

“Can I help you two with anything else today?” 

“You know, I think _my husband_ ,” you say it with such a faked sweetness, there is no mistaking the secret venom behind your words. Dave throws you an angry look, and you can’t help but feel proud at how the tables have turned. “Well, I think he will need something a little classier if I’m going to be wearing _that dress_ , don’t you Sofia?”

She nods her head eagerly and begins to speak to Dave, chattering about the options and the benefits of each tux. He’s too invested in glaring at you to pay attention to her. You don’t think he is mad–no, there is another emotion there. You almost think he might admire you for challenging him like he can’t believe you had the audacity to try something like that. 

He barely spends a moment choosing a tux, and it’s only at your insistence that he agrees to try a flashy gold one that Sofia brought over. When he’d opened his mouth, you knew he was going to immediately refuse it, but something in you suddenly really wanted to see him in it.

All it took was an “Oh, _honey_ , that one would look so sexy,” and suddenly his mouth is shut, and he says nothing when Sofia places it next to the one he already agreed to.

You sit yourself in the chair just outside the fitting room while you wait for him. You check your phone and see several messages and snaps from your roommates all asking how your date is going. You send them a group snap with your middle finger raised, reminding them ‘ _this isn’t a date you fucking horrible shit bags. suck a dog dick and die’_. 

They’re the reason you are stuck here in the first place. Though stuck wasn’t entirely accurate. And you did get a gorgeous dress. And the chance to mend things with Dave. Now that you’re thinking about it, you aren’t exactly upset anymore. It’s been a good experience. You didn’t really enjoy the shopping, and you hated trying on those god-awful dresses, but spending time with Dave hadn’t been…horrible. You might even admit to your roommates later that you’d enjoyed yourself. Two of your friends respond with a series of eggplant and the okay hand emojis and you roll your eyes, annoyed again. Okay so maybe not then. 

“Okay, I’m not so sure about this,” Dave says, and you look up from your phone. He steps out from the fitting room wearing the golden, flower-patterned tux. Your hand comes to clap over your mouth.

“Oh,” you say. “Oh, Dave.” 

He steps forward, going straight to the mirror, and you can already tell from his face he hates it. While he’s distracted, you pull up your phone and open the camera.

“You said you like this one?” he asks you, hands pulling at the edge of the jacket as if it was the fit that was the problem. He looks up in the mirror just in time to see you snap a photo. “What are you doing?”

You can’t help your laugh at the panic in his voice. 

“Are you kidding me?” He steps away from the mirror, focusing on your phone now. “You never liked this one!”

You laugh again, pulling your phone away when he reaches for it. “I’m so sorry,” you wheeze, “Sorry, sorry, no stop!”

“Delete that!”

He looks put out, and as much as you pity him, you can’t delete the photo. You switch from your camera roll to a different album and show him. “There! It’s gone, honey, I promise!” You laugh again, still in stitches over how he looks in the ridiculously flashy tux. 

He scowls at you, but he looks appeased. “This one never would have worked.”

“I know, I know. I just really needed to see you with that on.” He actually doesn’t look too bad all things considered. But it’s just not his style. At all. “Hey, you don’t look so bad. It’s kinda cute,” you say, fixing his lapels.

He rolls his eyes. “Cute…” he mutters. Despite being displeased with the situation, he seems perfectly fine under your attention.

“Okay, okay go,” you say. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “Go try on the one you like.”

He quickly shrugs off the jacket, glowering for a moment before disappearing back into the dressing room. You grin to yourself, quickly opening your phone again to find the picture. It isn’t the best quality, but you can still see him in all his gilded glory. You save a copy just in case, and then you set it as his profile picture. He’ll be so mad when he finds out, you think as you lean back into the dressing room chair, but it is so worth it.

You spend a moment more on your phone before he’s announcing himself again. “Alright, this one is at least better than the _last_.” He steps out and towards the mirrors, adjusting the cuffs of his all-black tux. You can’t help the little gasp that leaves your mouth when you see him. He looks, well he looks fucking fantastic, but you don’t want to tell him that. “You like it?”

“I think,” you say as you stand up and walk over to him. “You just need the right tie. May I?” 

He allows you to pick and choose, and you reach up to hold up a few different ties that were left for him. You don’t look him in the eye as you hold each one up, your eyes darting between the tie and his figure in the mirror. Suddenly, you feel Dave gently place his hand on your wrist, and you turn your head and look up at him. His face is a lot closer than you were expecting, and you have to hold your breath. 

“You don’t have to be nervous around me,” he whispers so only you can hear.

“I’m not nervous,” you say, confused by the accusation. 

“You’re biting your lip,” it’s so quiet when he says this that you almost miss it. He had noticed. You _were_ nervous right now, but not because of the reasons he was probably thinking - it was probably incredibly dumb of you, to already be so blindly trusting of a hitman, but unfortunately it didn’t even make the top three dumbest things you’d ever done. 

“I’m - well, that’s not why I’m nervous,” you mutter out as you hold up another tie. 

“Then why - ”

“How about this one?” You cut him off, loudly interrupting him to avoid answering the question and calling Sofia’s attention so she would join the conversation. You have him try a couple of different ties, but nothing feels right. You ask for Sofia’s opinion, even though you don’t care about it whatsoever. Finally, Sofia offers to run and grab a few more, and you wave her away. 

“You know,” you reach up and tug at the knot of the deep emerald green tie he currently wears, pulling it over his head to toss with the others. Your hands settle on his chest again, reaching for the button at his throat. You undo the top button and the second one as well, and you can feel his heartbeat under your hands. Keeping your breathing even, you reach up and ruffle his hair just slightly. Your heart races as you touch his soft brown locks and tousle them just enough to make them look perfectly messy. You turn and tilt your head at him in the mirror. “I think you look pretty good just like this.”

He extends his arm and you take it. You step up next to him as he regards the two of you in the mirror. 

“With you in that dress, and me like this, be honest,” he looks down at you hooked around his arm. “Would I stand out in the crowd?”

You sigh at this obviousness of his question. 

“I’d notice you.” It comes out as a whisper, and you feel the thud of your heart in your chest as you watch yourself tucked to his side.

“That’s sweet,” he says, a smile playing at his lips. “But do you think others will?”

“I’ll do my best to make sure they don’t.”

“I would say thank you, but you already know I don’t like you being there at all.” He suddenly grows serious when he says this, his smile fading and eyes staring as though he is seeing something else like he is remembering something. You know not to ask, even though you want to, because a part of you wants to help Dave as much as possible. 

“Can you just promise me you’ll be safe?” You whisper.

“I can promise you’ll be safe. I told you, it’s just a party.” 

“No, promise me _you’ll_ be safe?” He seems surprised by this sentiment and doesn’t immediately respond. You carefully lean your head onto his shoulder as you gaze into the mirror with your arms still interlocked. “You look good, Dave. This better be some party.” 

“It will be, I promise. It’s going to be a party to die for.” 

⁌♡⁍


	7. (7) the gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you and dave attend the gala, it’s a lot.

⁌♡⁍

Dave had already texted that he was leaving. The dress was on, make-up done, hair up and done to perfection. You had everything in your clutch, double then triple-checked. The shoes Whitney had insisted you wear were sitting on the floor, ready for you to put on as soon as you worked up the courage. 

Yet here you stood, in front of the mirror for the hundredth time in the last half hour, checking to make sure nothing was out of place. You stared for a moment, satisfied, before beginning to pace across your room again. You padded barefoot in front of Whitney, Sam, and Jesse all piled on your bed to check your phone again. No new messages.

You walked back to check the mirror.

“Damn girl stop fretting, you are hot,” Sam says when you go to analyze your appearance again pressing the fabric down against your hips.

“So fucking hot,” Whitney chimes in. 

You stand a little straighter, admiring the plunging neckline again, Whitney had even sprayed some of her highlighter glow spray - something you had never heard of - on your chest. You couldn’t help but stare at your own boobs in the mirrors as they shimmer ever so slightly in the light. You slip your leg out the slit again, turning to check yourself out at a different angle. You do look pretty good.

Jesse shoves a handful of pretzels in her mouth before passing the bag to Whitney. “If I weren’t happily engaged, I’d hit it.”

“Same here,” Sam comments before snatching the pretzels from Whitney. 

Whitney lets her, placing one pretzel in her mouth, and you see her consider you through the mirror. “You’re actually making me consider it too.”

“Okay, we have to ask because we care,” Jesse starts and Whitney sits up as if on cue and smiles at you.

“Have you packed protection for this evening’s events?” Whitney says it in a mock sing-songy voice. 

You groan. “I keep telling you it isn’t like that. He is just picking me up to take me to this work thingy. It’s not a date. We are just going together. As friends….colleagues.”

“Yeah, oh I am _sure_ that’s why you picked out _that_ dress, sweetie,” Jesse offers. “And I am so _sure_ he had no ideas when he saw it on you.” 

The three of them burst into a fit of giggles as they make mock moaning noises. 

“Again, we are just work friends, there is nothing happening,” you are fighting them tooth and nail on this. You were insistent that Dave was your friend, because if you thought about it any harder, then you would start to rethink the possibility of something more. And you had concluded that was off the table. Because it was a terrible, horrible, monstrously bad idea. And you were no dummy.

You would learn from your mistake. 

So no, you _do not_ like Dave York.

⁌♡⁍

Okay, fine.

You like Dave York.

It’s stupid and it’s reckless, but you do. He picked you up just like he said, came in that stupidly good looking black tux, unbuttoned just as you had done in the shop. He greeted you with a smile and opened the door for you, complimented you on your dress and make-up, and you couldn’t deny the way your heart leapt.

The ride to the pier had been long, but he kept up the conversation, made you feel so at ease you had almost forgotten exactly where you were going. It was just another night with him, nothing special, as he so insisted.

Yet now when you stood at the entrance, the car already taken away by the valet and you are surrounded by celebrities and the wealthiest residents of New York, you were reminded exactly how small you really were.

Any stares you got made you tense, but you tried to straighten your back, keep the eyes on you and not the man on your arm. It was your _job_ , you reasoned, and you intended to do it right.

Dave, to his credit, did his best to help you ignore it all, leaning to whisper funny comments in your ear and random observations to distract you. It worked, and you managed to smile at anyone whose gaze lingered. It was good, you reasoned, all this attention. You convinced yourself they stared because you were hot. Your roommates all said it, and Dave had basically said it with the way he looked at you. That you knew.

Dave shook hands with a couple of people, no one you recognized, and you doubted Dave had ever met them before since he gave them a name that wasn’t his. You stood there and smiled and nodded and looked pretty.

Tony was right. You didn’t have to do a thing. Whatever Dave said to these people probably went in one ear and out the other since all they could do was just stare at your body. Was it wrong that you…could get used to the attention?

Dave shakes the hand of some man in a perfectly tailored suit with slicked-back hair and a wandering gaze. He must be one of the hosts because he thanks your date for his generous donation before his eyes run the length of your body. You smile politely as you hang from Dave’s shoulder, tilting your head just so. You imagine Dave punching him in the face and it becomes easier to smile.

The place is nice you have to admit. Whoever was in charge of decorating, they went all out. The lights are low, the dance floor cast in deep blue and purple lights, glowing bar tops, and standing tables illuminate the drinking area with glowing fake plants staggered throughout the space. There are bars in every corner, screens set up around them playing various channels. It looks incredible, and you can’t help but think the darker the better.

When you catch a glance at a long table laden with food, you finally feel like you’ve found your place. Slowly, you edge towards it, and you’re certain Dave realizes what you’re doing. He lets you drag him over, and soon enough you have a moment without anyone badgering either of you.

“What do you think?” Dave asks you, as you lean over to eye a dish with creatively shaped vegetables. 

As much as you want to start grabbing things and shovel them into your mouth, you glance around and watch others eat before you do. “It’s a little overwhelming,” you respond, taking in the fondue fountain, tiny sandwiches, and beautifully decorated pastries further down. “But still impressive.”

He huffs a laugh, his hand gently resting at your bareback. “That’s fair.”

You think he’s about to say something else, but you glance around you, wanting to take advantage of the moment with no one to overhear you. “So what do we need to do?”

He looks at you questioningly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re here. At the party. Now what? Is there something…you need to do? What do normal people do in this situation?”

The both of you are hardly normal people, but for the time being you need to at least pretend to be the most normal people ever. Most of the guests seem to be talking and drinking. Schmoozing most likely. Not something you intended on doing.

“It’s a party,” Dave says. You’re starting to get tired of hearing that. “Normal people just eat and drink, socialize. Dance if they want to,” he gestures to a crowd of people on a dance floor, spinning and laughing to a lively tune. “What do you want to do?”

Hide in the car. You had plenty of attention just walking in, had to hang around as Dave met and greeted people you wouldn’t remember the names of. You were certain that the two of you had met the socialization requirements for the night as far as you were concerned. There was only one thing that really appealed to you at the moment.

“Drink, I think.”

Dave smiles at you and you know he’s trying not to laugh.

“Drinking it is then. I’ll go grab them, you just stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

You nod and give him your order. Your usual drink–something familiar and easy, something you know that will put you at ease. Dave slips away, fingers giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze before he disappears. You watch for a moment as he heads to the bar, wanting to keep track of him in the crowd. 

You don’t want to seem silly just standing there, however, so you turn back to the table and grab yourself a small sandwich. It looks good, and you think you’ll be able to stomach it. After all, if you’re having a drink, it would probably be a good idea not to do so on an empty stomach. You intended to keep your wits about you, just maybe…dull the anxiousness.

It’s good actually, and you find yourself grabbing a second, eating delicately when you notice someone glance your way and smile. The blonde man is young–well, younger than Dave, though still older than you, you assume–and a creeping feeling makes you tense your shoulders. 

You glance away, acting like you never noticed him in the first place, and continue to scan the area. No one seems immediately suspicious to you, and you try to relax. But it’s hard.

“Seven grand,” you whisper to yourself. “Seven grand, seven grand, seven grand.”

A hand touches your shoulder and you tense. You turn around sharply, the half-eaten sandwich still held in front of you. Dave York looks at you with a smirk, hand offering up your drink.

You release a sigh, melting into his touch, and accept it gratefully. You take a greedy sip, relieved to have something to distract you. It’s incredible how you find yourself relaxing already when it had been so hard to do before.

“What are you saying?” he asks you.

“Oh, nothing. Thank you,” you motion to him with your glass in hand.

“Did you say seven grand?” Though you refuse to look at him, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Definitely not,” you say into your glass.

“Okay.” 

His hand drifts down to the opposite side of your waist, pulling you slightly closer as someone passes you. He nods to them, and you smile, looking like the perfect couple. You don’t fight it though when he keeps you there, long after anyone comes near.

The drink warms you, and you take a deep breath. Between the glass in your hand and the warm press of Dave at your side, you feel better. It’s a party after all, and…you trust your date. The two of you stand there for a moment more, watching the people on the dance floor as you polish off a third sandwich _and_ your drink while Dave still politely nurses his own.

It isn’t until the music changes to something softer and the lights dim that you wonder if you should do something more.

“Do you need to do something?” you ask Dave.

He raises an eyebrow, likely tired of you asking him questions. “I need to enjoy this party. It’s still early yet.”

You frown. “We arrived fashionably late.”

“And so did half the people in attendance. Don’t worry. We can do whatever you want.”

You sighed. What _did_ you want? You didn’t really want the night to be over, you just wanted to be able to enjoy what time you did have here, but you knew another drink is out of the question. You wanted to be like the other couples who had normal reasons for being here, not because you were hired to accompany a…hitman that was here for a reason you were not allowed to know. You wanted to be able to drink and dance and hang on Dave’s arm and maybe talk to friends.

But you didn’t have friends here, and you weren’t going to drink but…

You could dance. You could definitely dance. That was normal and nice, and none of the people on the dance floor did anything more than a simple shuffle in a circle. It didn’t look hard at all. It helped that it didn’t require any outside socialization too.

You nudge Dave as he takes another sip of his gin and tonic, still staring at the dancers. 

“We should dance.”

The corner of his lips twitches up, and you can see his eyes dart across your face even in the dark lighting.

“Yeah?” He sounds surprised, and you’re not sure if it’s because it’s dancing or that you’re attempting to ask him to dance.

You feel like you should have asked. “Do you dance?”

“Dancing’s not a problem.” He holds your gaze. “You want to dance with me?”

Ah. Now you see the problem. For some godforsaken reason, he assumed you wouldn’t want to dance with him. 

You roll your eyes. “Well yeah. What better way to avoid people?”

“To avoid people. Of course,” his tone turns cold, and he finishes his drink.

This dumbass. 

You set down your empty glass on a high-top table, and slip your hand into his free hand. His fingers automatically curl around yours, and you like the way it feels to have your hand enveloped by his larger one.

“Yeah, I’m avoiding all but one. Now, are we going to dance or what?”

His grip tights on yours, and you don’t miss how he seems to stand taller. His glass lays forgotten next to yours, an empty space left where the two of you used to stand.

He doesn’t say anything as he tugs you forward to where couples sway to some old love serenade, and his thumb rubs over your knuckles. You move in front of him, stopping when he does, suddenly unsure what to do. 

Dave doesn’t hesitate, changing the hold on your hand to bring it up between you as he wraps an arm around your waist. You relax into his hold, let him move you closer, and your free hand reflexively comes to rest on his shoulder. The steady beat of the song starts you swaying, and you follow the gentle rock that Dave pulls you in. 

For a moment, you focus on the small steps, turning ever so slowly in place. You look up at his face, suddenly nervous. He smiles easily, guiding your movements.

“I’ll be honest,” you say, “I’ve never really danced like this before.”

“You’re doing fine. Just relax and step when I step.”

You haven’t messed up yet, but when he says that, you find yourself overcompensating and stumble over the toe of his shoe.

“Oh, sorry, sorry–”

“Hey, hey,” he laughs, pulling you closer to steady you. “Follow my lead alright? You were doing fine.”

“Right, yeah.” 

You take a deep breath, your chest rising and falling as it’s pressed to his. His warm hand slides over the small of your back and to the curve of your waist. He’s close, closer than he’s ever been before. With each shift of your body, his hand brushes the bare skin of your back, making you shiver. Between the packed room and Dave’s nearness, you know you can’t feign cold. He doesn’t say anything to your relief, and you watch as his eyes shift down before returning to hold your gaze.

You remember studying his face once, back at the coffee shop. It seems different now. You notice every crease at the corner of his eyes, the strong curve of his nose. His cheek is clean, freshly shaved, but his muscles are tense. Your eyes trail up his face again, noting the purse of his lips. He’s tense, brow furrowed, and you lean into his embrace as you sway, trying to comfort him.

“You alright?” You ask it quietly, just enough so he hears you over the sound of the music. You reach with your arm, curling it around his shoulders so your hand gently brushes over the hair at the back of his neck.

His dark eyes dart up to meet yours. The deep blue lighting casts a glow across his face, making his normally brown eyes shine black. 

He nods slowly and his jaw unclenches. “Fine.” He brings your clasped hands to your face, gently brushing back a stray tendril of hair with his finger. “Are you?”

Your lips part. He smells good. A different cologne from what he wore before, but good. “Fine,” you whisper. You let your thumb stroke the back of his hand, and when he shifts his weight to his other foot, you lean further into his side. “You just seemed worried.”

You didn’t even realize you were staring at his mouth until you watch the corner of his lip turn up. 

“You’re the one who sounds worried.”

You can feel his breath on your face. 

“Well someone’s got to worry about you.”

You smile when he does, relieved to see the tension leave his face. Your fingers toy with his collar now, and your gaze drops to the hollow of his throat. Removing the tie was a good call, you think, and you laugh silently to yourself, head tilting forward. 

Dave’s palm moves up from your lower back to just between your shoulder blades. His hand is rough against your smooth skin, and instinctually you press your chest to his. Your forehead briefly comes to rest against his jaw before you drop your head to rest on his shoulder.

It feels…so fucking nice to be held like this. Dave looks down at you, a smile on his face as though everything else has already been forgotten. You hadn’t noticed until now, but the two of you no longer turn as you did before. You gently rock back and forth in place, only moving if to get closer to each other. His gaze flits back up to your eyes, and you smile again only to watch his gaze drop.

The music is slow, light-hearted, and it’s easy to focus on the romantic swell as everyone else silences. Dave’s lips are slightly parted, and you think they look like they would be soft.

After you turn in place again, you begin to lift your head, looking over the line of his shoulders, the length of his neck, and the curve of his jaw. He’s here and he’s real, and you remember the date you never got to have. Would it have been like this? Would you have gotten the time to appreciate him, the time for him to appreciate you if you had stayed?

You don’t think you really care to know. You’re here and now, after all. You’ve got this quiet moment with him, a second chance. This is all you need.

Your eyes drift closed, and it’s nothing but you and Dave and a slow song about love. The two of you sway, and you relax, both of you drifting toward each other. You don’t even realize what you’re doing until a nose bumps yours, and your eyes snap open. 

His lidded eyes focus on your lips, but once you react to his touch, he looks back up, gauging your reaction. Your heart jumps from its calm state to running a mile a minute in a matter of seconds. He’s inches away. You could do it, just lean forward a bit more and your lips would meet his. You know he’s been glancing to your lips ever since you let him pull you into his arms, and you can’t hide the fact that you are guilty of the same. You want to, you want to just do it, get it over with, know what it’s really like. Hell, you could use a good kiss, and you’re tired of watching him purse his lips and pretending like you don’t imagine what it’d be like to taste them. 

Only you realize you’re hesitating, and Dave moves forward. He still holds you tightly, face inclining toward yours. You inhale sharply, and his nose touches yours again before he pulls back. He’s still close, never drifting far, but the added distance lets each of you get a good look at the other. He watches you with an open mouth, and you think he’s going to say something. Only your mouth opens too, expectantly staring at him. Neither of you says anything for a moment, and neither of you closes the distance. 

You breathe out a laugh and Dave does the same. You want to say something, want to distract from what almost happened. You thought he might say something too, but neither of you do anything but stare expectantly at the other. You’re still watching his mouth, face burning at the thought that you almost… _kissed him_. You couldn’t remember why you shouldn’t. 

His fingers brush against the bare skin of your back, and you try to focus on the ground beneath your feet. His face is still close to yours, and the desire to lean into him is overwhelming. To kiss him or not, he’s solid and warm and kind and way too good looking. You’re here at an extravagant party, dressed more finely than you have ever been in your life with a man that for some reason genuinely cares about you. 

His forehead touches yours as you look down, and your eyes flutter closed. You want to freeze this moment here, sway infinitely in a dim ballroom with his arm around you, his hand holding yours. It’s a moment you realize you’ve been chasing, one where you feel that you truly belong. There are no expectations, no responsibilities. Just someone you…like. Someone who likes you.

He presses you slightly closer, bringing you further in, and you let your own hand smooth over his shoulder to hold the back of his head. Both of you adjust, your cheek resting against his as you look over his shoulder. Neither of you says anything for the moment, content to orbit the other. 

You watch the other couples dance around you. They laugh and spin, some talk and sway more slowly. Compared to them, you feel as though you and Dave do not move at all. Your fingers brush through his hair, and you’re amazed at this. The careful touches of affection you can share. You hum.

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” you say.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” his voice is low, right next to your ear.

You smile as you rest your head on his. “I have a good lead. You do this often?”

“No, but I’m beginning to think I should take dancing up more,” his hand moves down the curve of your spine as he says it.

Your chest swells at the suggestiveness. “Maybe you should.”

“I’d need a partner.”

“I doubt you’ll have any trouble finding one.”

“Yeah?” he asks and you can hear his smile. “Are you volunteering?”

You giggle and rest your chin on his shoulder. “I suppose it depends….”

“On what?”

“What sort of dancing.”

You bite your lip when you wait for him to respond.

“Well, I suppose that depends.”

You feel his nose nudge the side of your face.

“On what?” you teasingly repeat his earlier question.

His voice comes out as a rasp directly in your ear and the words spread a heat through your body. “It depends on what sort of dance you’re willing to do.”

If you weren’t warm before, you certainly are now. You tighten your hold on him and hide your face in his shoulder. Part of you wants to kick him a little.

You settle for tugging his hair and whispering “Asshole,” at him.

He laughs, holding you close as he starts to turn the both of you in a circle. He spins the two of you in large, clumsy steps, and you can’t help but join him in laughing. It’s the most fun you’ve had since you forced him into the gold suit jacket last week.

Slowly the two of you settle into a more normal dance, turning about without causing a scene. The song has changed, still slow, but more lively. Even still, Dave leads you to keep in the slow step you started with. 

“You know, I’m going to have to say we’re probably the best looking couple here,” you say. “Not to be vain, but come on.”

“Oh easily. Have you seen yourself? Doesn’t matter who’s on your arm.”

You roll your eyes. “Please. You’re just saying that because of the dress.”

He pulls away for a moment and you get a glance of his face looking like that should have been obvious. “Of course I am. I’d do anything to get you to wear it again.”

Unfortunately kicking is still off the table, but stepping on his foot isn’t. You aren’t trying to be malicious, but you still grin when he yelps. Until he pinches your side.

You jump in his arm, pulling your hand away from his, but he’s smiling and takes his now free arm to wrap around your waist. With both his arms around your middle now, your other arm settles over his shoulders too, and you sway on your feet.

“You are awful,” you tell him, shaking your head.

His smile is fond and his gaze drops to your mouth again. That alone makes you melt into his embrace. That is until you catch a glance over his shoulder, noticing two men from earlier talking closely. It means nothing, but Dave must notice the change in your mood.

“Everything okay?” he asks. 

You nod, trying to forget them already. “Yeah, just saw someone I don’t like.”

“You know someone here?”

“No, no. Just that one guy from before,” You turn with Dave, directing him to look over your shoulder. “Greasy guy in the white suit, gold tie. And the blonde man with him.”

Dave stops swaying when he sees them. “We didn’t talk to him.” His voice comes out even. Weirdly so.

“We didn’t, it was when you left to get drinks. He didn’t talk to me or anything, he just…had bad vibes.” You watch as Dave’s brows set in a hardline. “Or something.”

You turn to look over your own shoulder as you stand there holding each other, wanting to see what they were doing that made Dave tense again. They were walking away, deep in conversation. Greasy guy was drinking. Normal party activities you assumed, even if they were creeps.

Dave still stands frozen, staring after them. You touch his cheek, bringing his attention back to you. “You alright?”

“Fuck,” Dave lets out a breath even as he admires you, “I have to go….work.” You nod your head, letting out a few ‘yeahs’ as you lean into his chest. You feel Dave squeeze your shoulders tightly and pull you back. “Fuck, I don’t wanna leave you but I have to. I have to do this.”

You can tell he is convincing himself just as much as he is convincing you. He takes your hand in his to pull you off the dance floor and through the crowd of people. When you reach the edge of the dance floor, you can see Dave’s eyes scanning the area. He leans in very close and pulls on your waist so you’re leaning against him, and he puts his lips to your ear.

“Listen, this is what we talked about. Remember?”

You nod just enough to acknowledge his words. You realize that he didn’t want to risk any prying eyes or ears. The embrace ensured no one would think twice that you two were nothing more than lovers sharing a tender moment. 

“Repeat it back to me.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring your lips to his ear. “I stand at the end of the bar. I order a martini. I don’t talk to anyone. I pretend to be invested with whatever game is on the TV. And I wait. For no matter how long, I wait. For you.”

You pull back and put your hands on his chest. He puts his hand under your chin so you’re forced to look up at him.

“I promise I’m coming back for you. Don’t worry.”

“I know, just - ” you take a deep breath. “Just…be safe.” 

He winks at you before he squeezes your hand one last time. You can tell he wants to hold on a little longer, that he wants to stay with you. You tilt your head and smile, but he doesn’t smile back. He just looks incredibly sad for a moment before he turns and makes his way toward the men’s room. You watch his back as he leaves, sighing before making your way to the bar. 

You didn’t want to actually drink. It’s not a sentence you thought you’d say at a fancy party, but you’re already a bundle of nerves and alcohol is not going to improve that situation. You find a place at the bar and set your clutch down, trying to flag down the bartender with no luck. You huff in frustration. You decide that Dave could be a while doing….his job, so maybe it’s better to just try and relax without having a drink for a bit. 

You are trying not to think of the millions of scenarios in which this night ends in disaster. You are trying not to think of what Dave could _possibly_ be doing at this very moment. You knew what he was, yes, but it was somehow different being here and being involved. It didn’t change your affection for him, even though you knew it definitely should. It just made you more worried about him. It made you care more to know that he was going to be okay. 

Fuck. 

You don’t just like Dave York. You _really_ like Dave York. After all the nights of convincing yourself that this was a horrible idea, that you couldn’t act on any of your impulses, telling your roommates over and over that you most certainly didn’t have feelings for this man - you had played yourself. And now you had major feelings. 

Okay, maybe you would have that drink now. 

You turn to stare at the screen as you were instructed. Boxing. Great. Another reminder of the violence that you didn’t know if it was or was not happening. You couldn’t even state a single fact about the sport. You stare at the match, but your mind is zoned out and your expression grows glassy.

“Well, don’t you look divine.” 

You don’t acknowledge the voice because you think it’s directed at you. That is until you feel a hand run down your arm lightly and you turn to see an older gentleman smirking at you with a devilish grin. He takes your hand off the bar and kisses it lightly. “Pleasure to meet you, angel.”

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t think you know me,” you manage to get out as you see two rather large men appear behind the man as though they are guarding him. 

“Ah, well I do think that’s a shame. Don’t you?” 

You don’t recognize him. His light brown hair is streaked with grey and neatly combed back, face clean-shaven. Your stomach turns when you meet his piercing blue eyes. His accent isn’t thick, but if you were to guess, it sounds Russian. You can’t explain why you feel a sudden dread, but between the stress of this entire event and the menacing way this man carries himself, you figure it’s best to trust your instincts. 

“I, um, I don’t know,” you stammer out weakly. Dave had been very specific that he wanted you to avoid speaking to people as much as possible. And he had given you the aliases you both were using for the night if it came to that, but it was a last resort. 

“You wanted a drink, yes?” He lifts a finger, and without even glancing away from you, the bartender appears in front of him. 

He waits expectantly for you to order, and between this strange man, the two men at your back, and the poor bartender just doing his job, you feel pressured enough to answer.

“A…a martini,” you say. That’s what Dave told you to order. You remember that.

The stranger orders his own drink, and you watch the bartender pour a vodka so high-shelf you don’t recognize the name.

“You are very beautiful. And I am very wealthy. Perhaps we can get to know each other better.” His hand still rests on your arm, and he runs his fingers up to your elbow. 

You shiver away from his touch. You aren’t sure if he thinks you’re a prostitute–which should flatter you that he thinks you’re pretty enough to be a high-class call girl–or if he is implying he will just pay for random women’s company. Which you suppose is a form of prostitution. 

“I’m married,” you blurt out before you can think of anything else. You feel trapped. As discreetly as possible, you glance around looking for somewhere you could hide for a few minutes while this man finds another woman to ogle over, using the excuse of the martini the bartender slides your way to turn your head and check each angle. But Dave had stressed that you could not leave the bar for any reason. You needed to wait. He was coming back for you, here, and you had to be ready. 

“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” he reaches across to take your left hand in his and examines it. “Surely someone as exquisite as you deserves a diamond equally as stunning.”

Pretending to be married for laughs at a boutique was one thing. Pretending to be married to a perceptive stranger that seemed accustomed to getting what he wants was another. You flounder.

“My husband said he’s still searching for one that can outshine me,” you blurt out in a panic. God, you’re stupid. You are really that fucking stupid. That was maybe the cheesiest line in the world, and you just fucking said it to a man that looked like he would eat your heart out and not think twice.

He looks at you for a moment before letting out a low laugh. You hate the sound. It reminds you of nails on a chalkboard, and you have half a mind to slap him. 

“Well, at least your husband and I can agree on that.”

The man is staring at you like he wants to devour you. He doesn’t try to hide the way he stares at your chest. You know you wore this dress for the attention, but you still feel violated. The confident feeling you had not so long ago melted the moment you laid eyes on him. You want to crawl away from this man, run, anything, and you aren’t entirely sure why.

“Am I allowed to know your name, angel?”

“Am I allowed to know yours?” you quip back.

“Victor. Victor Solanvik.”

“Where are you from Victor Solanvik?” You decide two can play at this game. You can avoid answering questions by asking them.

“Far away. What’s your name?”

“How far away?”

“Far enough that you haven’t been there. Tell me your name, princess. I won’t ask again.” 

You turn your body so it’s facing him fully, and a wicked smile grows on his face at the view. 

“And what does that mean Victor Solanvik? Are you trying to scare me?” 

“Do I scare you, angel?”

“I’m not sure, Victor, should I be?” 

His smile fades, and your heart beats even faster when he narrows his eyes. You swallow nervously, glancing away for a moment, hoping for an excuse to escape.

That’s when you spot Dave from across the room. He’s staring straight at you but he’s stopped dead in his tracks. He is looking at you with a shocked expression, and if you didn’t know better, you would think he is panicking. Which causes you to panic. 

You grab your clutch and stand, but Dave moves his head in the smallest shake possible and your heart sinks - he wants you to stay put? No, he is trying to tell you something with the way he moves his head to the side. But you don’t understand, and your heart rate is still rising.

“Are you going somewhere, angel?” Victor’s voice brings you back, and you look to him.

“I have had a little too much to drink, and unfortunately I must excuse myself to the ladies’ room.”

“You seem perfectly sober to me.”

“Oh Victor,” you let out a hollow laugh. “Of course I’m still sober. That wasn’t what I was suggesting.” 

You smile at him and turn to see if you can pick Dave out of the crowd. You feel a hand on your elbow, and turn to see Victor reaching for you. 

“I can’t let you leave with at least knowing your name,” he reaches down and grabs your hand again and caresses it tenderly. You panic. 

“Melody.”

Victor smiles when you relent to his wishes. 

“Well, Melody,” he leans down and kisses the top of your hand. “I do hope we meet again very soon. Maybe you will be available later this evening?”

“For you Victor, I will certainly try.” 

“Excellent.”

You give a sly smile as you start to slink away towards where you had seen Dave, but he is nowhere to be seen. Your heart drops. You walk towards the edge of the room craning your neck in either direction and when you look back, you notice Victor’s eyes are still trained on your body. 

You make your way towards the bathroom, which of course has a long line of women waiting outside of it. You drip just out of Victor’s line of sight and into a small hallway when you feel someone wrap their hand around your bicep and pull you roughly. Immediately you jump and smack whoever it is in the chest, but when you look, it’s Dave. 

He doesn’t say anything as he pulls you by the arm and towards an unmarked exit. He is silent as you make your way into the crisp autumn air. Your eyes grow wide when you see the determined look in his eye, and you just follow towards the valet, trying not to let your emotions overwhelm you. 

Dave reaches his hand back, and you without thinking you interlace your fingers with his. He pulls you close to his side, placing his other arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. There are a few stray people standing in the shadows of the building, smoking - you can smell the reason they had chosen to stand in the shadows - and he tried his best to hide your face from view. 

Once you reach the valet he doesn’t say a word as he hands the valet his ticket, and you both wait wordlessly, you tucked into his side, silently chastising yourself for clearly having done something wrong. When Dave’s rented black car pulls around, he opens the door and helps you in, before slipping a tip to the valet and climbing in himself. 

He doesn’t say a word as you pull away from the gala, his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. Dave is staring straight ahead, and you can tell he is angry. The silence continues as you nervously twist your hands in your lap. 

“I’m really sorry,” you finally murmur. “I didn’t mean to mess things up.”

“I’m not….angry at you,” he lets out a frustrated sigh. You see him visibly roll his shoulders as if trying to release the tension. “That just…wasn’t something I expected. You did good.” He glances over at you, and you see him softly smile at you. At the stop, he reaches for your hands which are in a death grip in your lap. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like that. I just…that man. He’s not a friend.”

_“Oh.”_

He takes your hand in his and gently rubs the back of it with his thumb. 

“Can you forgive me once again for being an ass?”

“Oh, well, I suppose David,” you put your other hand on top of his and smile in relief. “Is it because, well, is he….one of the bad guys?”

“Ha, good one.”

“Well, he was a little creepy.”

“Did he hurt you?” He says it with concern and a furrowed brow. 

“No, just one of those guys that you’d wanna avoid at a dinner party, ya know?”

“Trust me, _I know._ ”

You know there is much more that Dave isn’t telling you. But you decide not to ask. You resolve to trust Dave for here forward. He would tell you what you needed to know and protect you from what you didn’t. You knew he would, you had that feeling deep in your gut that told you he would, and this time you were going to trust yourself. 

You mindlessly flip on the radio to some oldie rock station. But you continue to hold Dave’s hand the entire trip home, as he strokes circles with his thumb, occasionally making idle conversation. You look over at him and can’t help yourself from staring again. 

“Is there a reason you’re staring?” He throws you a smirk when he catches you after several long moments. 

“Just admiring the view,” you quip. 

“Now look who’s the cheesy one?” 

You giggle as you turn your head and look out at your Brooklyn neighborhood, somehow both disappointed and relieved to see it. Two hours ago you hadn’t a care in the world when you danced with Dave. One hour ago you felt like you sat down for a drink with the devil. But Dave had pulled you out of there, and your night of opulence was over.

You’d go back upstairs to your apartment, take off your gorgeous dress, and drop into your bed in your shared room and watch shitty TV. With Dave’s hand still clasped tightly in yours, it didn’t sound as appealing as it used to.

He pulls the rental up to the curb, putting it in park and killing the engine. You look over to him, preparing to say goodnight.

“Thank you. For everything tonight.” You intend to continue and apologize about the incident at the bar, but he looks like he’s getting ready to get out.

He glances over to you and squeezes your hand with a small smile. “You don’t have to thank me for anything.” And then he pulls his hand away from yours to open his door.

Not expecting that, you open yours too, wondering where he plans on going. As soon as you open the door he starts jogging around, reaching to open the door all the way and offer you a hand.

You laugh, pleasantly surprised by his actions, and you take it, heeled shoes stepping up onto the curb. He closes the door behind you too, and together you step onto the sidewalk. You realize you never let go of his hand.

“Thank you, sir,” you smile at him.

“Of course, my lady.”

You roll your eyes, bumping shoulders with him as you slowly step to your building. “I meant it though. Thank you for tonight, for looking out for me. I know it was a work thing, but…I had fun.”

His warm eyes search your face. “Me too,” he says quietly. You know you both are thinking about the same thing. 

“It was definitely worth the seven grand.” You nod resolutely, pleased with your financial decisions.

The moment is broken and Dave rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

“Yes, I think so. Just imagine what I can do now.” You come to the bottom of the steps to your door. “I’m thinking pay off some debt first,” you bump into his shoulder as you walk, “maybe even using the cash to go someplace nice. It’s been ages since I’ve been on a vacation.” You swing your arm that’s still holding to Dave’s hand, going up a step. “Or I could get something nice for my parents. I’m due for a visit, I guess.” Dave raises an eyebrow at you. “ _Or_ I could do something nice for my roommates,” you remember how they set you up last week, “Or not, I’ve been nice enough recently.”

Dave chuckles at you. “I’m sure they’d appreciate whatever.”

“Oh no, you’ve met them. Honestly, I have been too nice. They would not appreciate anything. But there is this other friend of mine I’ve been thinking about doing something for though.” You take the final step and stand in front of the door, turning to look at Dave. “He’s been pretty nice to me, all things considered. Got me a few things I needed a while back, and I wanted to return the favor. He’s a little hard to shop for though, so I don’t know what to do. Do you have any ideas?”

You still hold hands as you stop at the door, leaning slightly away so you can look at him.

“Maybe what he wants isn’t something you buy.” His eyes flit between yours. “Have you asked him?”

You pout. “I tried, but it seems he doesn’t like to give anything away. If he doesn’t answer me though I’ll be forced to get something basic like a tie. Or maybe I’ll get something ridiculous like a ginormous belt buckle. Force him to wear it just to show how grateful he is. The problem is he’s kind of dense, even if he is a bit of a flirt. One time he tried to take me on a _date_ , but it seemed suspiciously like a setup, and then he had the balls to go and say he thought it was norm–mmmf–”

His lips are soft. Really soft. Your eyes flutter closed after a moment of surprise, and you lean forward. 

Of course, he would. Of course, he would kiss you here, shut you up. His hand secures itself at the curve of your neck, holding your face to his as he gently kisses you. You move your lips slowly against his, following his lead again, and you sigh. He steps closer and you let go of his hand so you can brace yourself on his chest. His body is firm under your hands, and his touch warms you in the cool air.

You don’t think, don’t move more than he does, and your lips barely part before he’s pulling away. Your eyes stay closed as you stand there, lips still pursed. It was a good kiss. A really sweet, soft, good kiss.

Your eyes snap open in a moment, realizing you’ve just been standing there in front of him like a stunned idiot.

He’s smiling fondly at you, and you feel warm. “I don’t need anything from you,” he says before bringing your hand to his lips. “Being with you tonight was enough of a gift.”

“Oh,” you whisper breathlessly. You can’t say anything. You can’t…think of anything.

Dave smiles down and you glance back at his lips. He makes the decision for you and closes the distance once again. But this time you are ready. You clasp his face in your hands and press your lips to his with just as much fervor. He slants his lips over yours, and you let him take what he wants from you, feeling a flutter in your stomach as he steals your breath. Again, he pulls away much too soon, leaving you to chase his lips. He smiles at you, a tender look in his eyes.

“So about that second chance?”

It takes a moment longer than you’d like to admit because you are only focused on how you can get your lips back on his. But then you remember the conversation you had, the apology he gave, and the standards you set. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah I think a second chance could be arranged.”

“Good,” he says back, just as quietly. He holds you for a moment on the stoop, eyes never leaving your mouth. “I intend to make good use of it. Goodnight,” he whispers your name reverently against your lips. You almost try to grab his hand, pulling him into your building and up into your bed. But you stop yourself, only nodding in return. 

“Yeah. Yes, I, well, I, - goodnight,” You finally stammer. 

He stands with you before he points to the door. Your eyes widen. Right. You need to move. To go inside. To your apartment. 

You quickly rustle through the items in your clutch before you grab the keys and open the door. He steps away as you do, waving from the driver’s side door. You smile wide, waving back and laughing a little. You step inside still facing the street, letting the door close in front of you as you watch him start his car through the window. You wave again as he pulls it into drive and takes off down the street.

The bastard did it. He really did it. You reach up to touch your lips as you stand there at the entrance of your building still wearing your dress and heels.

A sound further in breaks you from your thoughts, and you realize….you’re still standing here wearing your dress and heels. Like some lovestruck idiot. You wince and turn away, quickly stepping to the elevator to get to your apartment.

You try to be quiet about it. You really do. You take your heels off before you enter so they won’t click on the hardwood, you are sure you closed the door as quietly as possible, and you are positive you don’t make a sound crossing the small space towards your room, but somehow Sam just knows. 

“So, you’re home earlier than I expected.” She is standing in the doorway to her room leaning on the doorframe giving you an all-knowing smirk.

“Were you waiting up for me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m very charmed you care _soooooo_ much about me.” Your roommates definitely weren’t getting anything.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure he didn’t murder you since you were being so weird about it all week long.”

You freeze in front of the door to your room. “Why - why would you think that?”

“Uh, cause first you were like obsessed with this guy, then out of the blue you hated him, then now you’re obsessed with him again. You’re being weird about this one babe.”

“Okay, well again, nothing is going on with Dave. So…” you know you look flustered. You can’t meet her stare and edge closer to your room.

“Yeah, _right_ , well happy you had fun.” 

She closes her door. You note that she’s alone, which means Jesse must be staying with her fiance tonight. You peek your door open to find the space empty, which means Whitney had also found another place to sleep. You breathe a sigh of relief - you wouldn’t be hounded with a million questions. Not tonight anyways. You could just change out of this Godforsaken thing and sleep. 

You look in the full-length mirror one more time for no other reason than to admire yourself. You wanted to remember how confident you felt in this dress the next time you weren’t feeling particularly great about your appearance. And even with the strange turn, you want to remember everything that happened tonight. You smile.

Your phone ringing breaks your thoughts. You glance over and see Dave’s picture pop up on the screen, and concerned that something might be wrong, you reach over and pick it up. 

“Hello?”

“I know this is too eager, but I just….fuck, I don’t know. I didn’t want to leave you back there…I just…can we still talk?”

You grin at his omission, and you still think about the way he kissed you before he left.

“Are you saying that you just can’t get enough of me Mr. York?”

“I could never get enough of you.”

“Why are you always _so_ cheesy?” You laugh. 

“Because when it comes to you, it’s true.”

You laugh at him, feeling relieved that he was talking just to talk. You also feel something else, a happiness that Dave didn’t expect anything else from you. Just your company. He liked being with you, because he liked you, something you were still trying to grapple with. 

“Okay, I have to set the phone down, but yes I want to talk to you too, hold on.” You frantically try and reach around your body to unzip the dress. As much as you love it, several hours in it had worn on you and you were desperate to get it off your frame. You finally relent that it is a physical impossibility for you to unzip the dress by yourself. You grab the phone. “Hold on, I need to ask for some help real quick, but stay there.”

“Everything good?”

“Yeah it’s just this dress isn’t easy to take off.”

“Well, I guess that is the price of high fashion.” 

You are so surprised. You had set Dave up perfectly to make a sexual comment. Perfectly. You had even expected it. He had kissed you not minutes before, and it was nice but chaste. He still didn’t bring up the kiss, and you were still stunned by it that you didn’t want to bring it up. Surely having kissed might open up some conversation, but he didn’t even take the bait. Was he really that much of a gentleman? Were you really that desensitized to lewd comments about your body? 

“You….are really special Dave,” You murmur as you stumble into the hallway. You have to knock on Sam’s door. She appears and without a word, you point to your back. She unzips the dress and sees you holding the phone to your ears. 

“Who are you talking to this late?”

“No one.” You say it too quickly and too defensively, and she instantly puts two and two together. 

“Well, tell _no one_ hi. And he’s welcome back anytime.” She smirks before closing the door. You can hear a soft chuckle through the phone.

“Shut up,” you mutter to Dave.

“Good to know at least your roommates like me.”

You giggle. “Whitney keeps reminding me to tell you that she’s available once you’re done with me.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint your friends…but I have my eyes on someone else.”

“Ugh, Dave again with the cheesiness. Please, you really don’t have to lay it on so thick,” you hear the sound of a honk. “Are…are you still driving?”

“Yeah, just headed back to my place.”

“Where _do_ you live anyway?”

“Williamsburg, pretty close to the water.”

“Whoa. Fancy pants Dave over here. Hold please!” You shimmy out of the dress and let it pile on the floor. You slip out of your uncomfortable thong, and into clean undies and blissfully cozy pajamas. “Okay, the evil dress is finally defeated.” You announce. 

“Good, you had me worried. Are you going to sleep?”

“I usually watch TV before bed,” you can hear a hitch in his voice. “But I think tonight I may skip it. I have a few questions if I am to give you a second chance.”

“I thought you agreed I already got it.”

“Only if you get these questions right.”

“Okay, well fire away.”

“Do you David, promise to pick me up on our next date?”

You can hear him chuckle. 

“Yes.”

“And do you David York, promise that you will take me to a restaurant that is full of people that would be appalled should you choose to murder me?”

“That one isn’t funny.”

“Okay, but it’s a legitimate question.”

“I’m not answering.” 

“Well, how can I know we are going to a restaurant full of people?” 

“How about you choose? Then by your own logic, I wouldn’t have time to devise a plan.”

“Hmm, that is true,” you giggle slightly. “Okay deal. I hope you like Mediterranean

food.” 

“I do.”

“Good. And finally, David, do you promise to be yourself on a date? Just David York? Not whatever cool suave mother fucker you were trying so hard to be last time.” 

“Yes, I promise I can do that.”

“Then fine. I hope tomorrow night after 8 works.”

“You work on Sundays,” he states plainly.

“Yeah I know, but Tony’s having the shop close early, and you said you’d pick me up.”

“I did.”

“So I guess I will see you then?” You wait for an answer but you hear a weird ruffling on the other end of the phone and you think for a second he hung up. “Um, Dave, did….did you hang up?”

“No, fuck” his voice sounds super distant, like he’s in a cave. “Don’t hang up!” You hear him plead. You hear more shuffling and car door slam. His voice suddenly reappears sounding much closer. “Fuck sorry, you’d think I’d know how to work this Bluetooth thing by now. But I’m still lost.”

You laugh as you collapse onto your bed and bury your head into your pillow. 

“You had me worried that I was being too forward for a moment.”

“About dinner tomorrow? Fuck, no. I’d take you to breakfast if you wanted.”

“Uh, okay, here’s the thing, I _really_ want to. Breakfast food is my favorite. But the thing is I have to work tomorrow and I am…not an early riser. As much as I’d like to be.”

“Noted,” he laughs. “But I’ll be there at 8pm. I swear.”

“And I shall pick out the place full of people.” You can hear a sink run and something close in the background and you try and picture him in his bachelor pad. “What’s your place like?”

“My condo?” 

“Yeah? I’m trying to picture you.”

“Uh, it’s not much. Three bedroom, two bath - ”

“Damn, David! And you live there alone?”

“Yeah, and you can tell by the sore lack of anything personal. It looks sad.” He sounds defeated about it. Genuinely sad about it, and for some reason that pulls at your heart.

“Hmm, maybe I could help you settle in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile at the hopeful tone of his voice.

The two of you discuss the details of his apartment and your enthusiasm for interior decorating curated by the hours HGTV you had consumed, his favorite parts of Brooklyn so far, your love for lighting stores, his distaste for Chicago style pizza, your inability to keep house plants, his childhood obsession with baseball and other things that you can’t quite remember because at this point, you’re just listening to hear his voice on the other end of the phone as your eyes slowly droop closed and into a blissful night of sleep. 

⁌♡⁍


	8. the job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dave takes you on your second first date.

⁌♡⁍

_Ping!_

You blink your eyes open. You roll over and are surprised when something hard hits your face.

“Ow!” you cry out, sitting up to see your phone sitting on the side of your pillow. You shake your head, groggily trying to put together why your phone isn’t where you charge it. 

_Ping!_

Oh. Right. Dave York. 

You giggle and unlock your phone. You see four unread messages from Dave, as well as a slew of messages from your roommates, and a missed call from your mother. How the fuck did you sleep through all that? You must’ve stayed up a lot later talking to Dave than you thought. 

Oh my god. It all comes flooding back. You had stayed up nearly all night talking to Dave York on the phone. You look and see you are at a measly 4%. You reach behind your nightstand and grab your charger before plopping back down on your bed and opening your messages. 

Dave: _sorry I didnt want 2 hang up but I had 2 fall asleep & my damn charger isn’t near the bed. _

_Ill show when u come help me decorate I hope u aren’t offended_

_R u really not awake yet?_

_U really weren’t lying lol I guess ill have to remember the not a morning person thing_

You're grinning like an idiot at your phone, trying to think of a clever reply when you hear your roommates open the door unannounced. 

“Oh good, you’re awake. I need your help,” Jesse marches in followed closely by her fiancee Nicole, who is followed by someone you don’t recognize holding a fancy binder with the word WEDDING in rainbow letters across the front, followed by Whitney munching loudly out of a box of cereal. 

You sigh.

The rest of your morning and afternoon is consumed with planning the wedding. You want to complain to uphold the sour image you usually hold towards relationships, you really do, but you secretly find it all so fun. Seeing Jesse and Nicole so happy makes your heart happy, and narrowing down the different types of appetizers is certainly a nice way to be fed on this Sunday morning. You find it odd that none of the girls comment on your excessive texting throughout the morning. You find it particularly odd that when Whitney sees you clearly texting Dave a picture of the food, she still says nothing. You just know that means something, and you don’t like it, but you choose to ignore it for now.

Finally, you make your excuse to get ready for work. Usually, you would be dragging your feet, dreading the slug of working Sunday evenings, but today you can hardly stand the wait. You just had to get through a few measly hours of work, make a few silly overpriced drinks, and then you got to go on a _real_ date with Dave. No strings attached. You weren’t being paid, and he wasn’t going to be weird, _hopefully._ It was just going to be a nice, normal date with a guy you were genuinely into. 

And judging from the texts, things would hopefully end with you back at his place. Doing more of what you did last night. Hopefully a lot more. 

You were no longer trying to be subtle about it.

You tap your foot against the floor impatiently. You had excused yourself to the back to catch up on the dishes since working in the lobby made it feel like time actually crawled by slower. There are few dishes left, but you don’t look away from them, even when you hear a noise behind you. 

“Hey, that dude that came around asking for you that one time just came in again,” Shelly’s voice comes from the door, and though she sounds disinterested, you know she’s digging for something. “I got to say, now that I see him again. He’s decent. Not hot, but decent.” 

You jerk your head up. 

“Dave’s here?”

“Whoa,” Shelly’s interest piques with your excitement. “Down girl. I didn’t know you were actually interested. Oh my god, spill.”

You instantly regret expressing any amount of emotion around Shelly. You glance at the clock on the wall and make a split-second decision to avoid any further discomfort. 

“Hey, you know what, Shelly? I’m feeling generous this weekend. Go ahead and head out. Have a good rest of your weekend. You deserve it.” She absolutely did not, but that didn’t matter now. 

“I know what you’re doing, but because I got some serious side dick going on, I am not going to fight you on this one. But we are going to talk about this!” She’s already out the door by the end of the sentence.

“Whatever you say,” you mutter and turn on the sink to wash your hands. You barely make it through the door back upfront before she bombards you again.

“Hey, you need any weed? My guy is on his way here.” 

You flash her an irritated smile. “You’re fascinating, Shelly.”

“You sure? I got a pill guy on the way too. Shrooms? X?” She continues on as she fills up her water bottle with ice. 

“I am going to pretend that you aren’t saying this to me - your boss.” Dave approaches the counter and leans over. You lean on the opposite end of the counter and give him your friendliest customer service hello. 

“Right, like that is the worst thing that has ever happened here,” she mutters behind you. Your smile drops. Dave’s smile shifts into a smirk, and you huff to turn and give her a stern look. 

“Shelly, leave. _Now._ You are annoying me.” 

“Okay, but you for sure about the weed? He’s outside,” she gestures her head to the window and sure enough, some dude wearing sweats you know haven't been washed in weeks is leaning casually on the shop window with a plastic bag bulging out of pocket. 

“Fuck, Shelly, no I do not want your weird weed dude here! _Leave_!”

“Okay! Leaving!” She tosses one last glance over her shoulder as she approaches the door towards Dave. “How about you old guy, you down to have a good time?” 

“I’m counting to three,” you grit your teeth.

Dave chuckles as she scrambles out the door, and you watch her give the dude in dirty sweats a full-tongued kiss before skipping across the street to meet more people in questionably laundered outfits. 

“She’s fun,” Dave comments. 

“She’s annoying,” you breathe as you take in his appearance. He looks good, which is to be expected at this point, but you still bite your lip as you glance him up and down. It’s nothing fancy, but he pulls it off. The button down he has on fits him snuggly, and he’s wearing the leather jacket that shows off his broad shoulders how you love and a dark pair of perfectly fitted jeans. He notices and leans further over the counter to give you a better view. “And you’re early.” 

Your eyes flit back to his face, and you try not to get flustered under his stare.

“I had to scope out the place. Make a plan,” he looks at you expectantly when you don’t react, he adds. “You know, so I can murder you later.”

“Ha, ha, very funny, Mr. York,” you roll your eyes. A glance around the shop confirms there are just a few people all sitting quietly with headphones on, paying no attention to you and Dave. You smile. You lean over to meet Dave halfway and peck his cheek. 

“I threaten to murder you, and you kiss me?”

“I’ll even make you a drink if you like, Mr. York. On the house tonight,” you give him a little wink as you walk over to the espresso bar. 

“Really? Excellent service around here, I’d love to speak to a manager about that.”

“Well, you are in luck, sir. I just so happen to be the manager of this fine establishment.” 

“I will say though, the last time this barista served me something, and I was gravely ill after. I mean on my deathbed.” He places a hand over his heart, trying very hard to sell the drama.

“That sounds serious,” you nod your head along as you start to steam the milk. 

“It was. Very serious.”

“Hmm,” you playfully roll your eyes, “do you remember who made it for you?”

“You know, I don’t think she gave me a name. She was cute though. Really cute. Had a real thing for danger.”

You hear the bell on the front door chime and hate you immediately look up with a bright smile and a ‘hello, I will be right with you’ without even thinking about it. You turn back to Dave. 

“I’ll have your drink out for you in just a minute, sir,” you flash him a teasing smile, finding a strange joy in pretending you’re nothing more than strangers while you work. 

“Well, I am sure it’ll be better than the last one,” he taps his fingers on the counter before moving aside, heading to a seat near the end of the counter where you can easily see him.

“Oh, it’ll be better. That I can _assure_ you.”

_7:12 pm_

Dave sits with one leg propped over the other in the corner, angled so he can face both you and the door. As you watch him, you see him peer over the newspaper and meet your gaze. It’s been pure torture having to play a game of barista and customer for the past hour and a half. Him pretending he hates his drink, you having to make another one. Him requesting that you wipe down another table for him, you bending over to pick up the rag you ‘accidentally’ dropped right in front of him. Him casually deciding to buy another pastry after spending a little too much time talking it over with you. 

He gives you a wink before blocking his face once again. You glance back at the clock, 7:14 pm. You wish you could will time to move faster. The ticking of each second resonates in your skull like time is somehow laughing at you. 

Later, after two drinks and a hundred more glances to Dave are served, it’s finally 7:55 pm. 

And there is a lone hipster sitting staring at his blank document, which you note has been blank for the last three hours. And then of course there’s Dave, who is currently glaring a hole into the back of the hipster’s head. You decide to try and be polite one more time, walking over to Dave’s table with a rag and loudly announcing. 

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Yes, miss?” Dave looks at you with amused interest as you turn your body towards the other patron. 

“We are closing in five minutes, if you wouldn’t mind, gathering your things?” 

“You really can’t tell he has his headphones in, can you?”

You purse your lips and angrily glare down at Dave. 

“Oh, like it's so easy then?” 

He pushes the chair back as he stands and swipes the rag out of your hand, marching over to the hipster. He taps him on the shoulder.

“We’re closing shop for the night, sorry to do this to ya man.”

“Oh yo, no prob, bro. Just let me grab my things, bro.” 

You watch as the man juggles his various notes - all blank, you note again - before closing his laptop, stuffing them in his backpack, and throwing it over his shoulder. He throws a half-assed salute to you and Dave as he pushes the door open. 

“Appreciate it, man.” 

Dave pulls the door closed, and you hear the door lock click. Dave turns and throws the rag back in your direction. 

“Maybe we should keep you around as security,” you comment at how easy that was.

“People are a lot less observant than you think,” he makes his way toward the counter, and you follow close behind. “How long do you need?” 

“I just need to wipe all this down. Clean and shut the machines down...and lock the safe. Oh, and then change out of these gross clothes. Obviously.”

“Okay, go change,” he takes the rag back and starts to wipe down the counters. You look at him surprised before you start to giggle. 

“This is a good look for you, Dave. If you ever decide to make an honest man of yourself, I can see this as an option.”

“Well, I do know the manager,” You just stare at him with a goofy smile on your face. Dave looks up at you and smirks. “Hey, I am not doing this to give you a show. I’m doing this so we can get out of here. Preferably soon.”

“Right,” you walk into the back and grab your backpack, then a strange thought crosses your mind, and you point your head back out. “You aren’t going to like, steal the money right? From the safe.”

Dave turns with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and looks at you expectantly. “Do you seriously think I’m that stupid?”

“Hey, I still remember our first date.” 

“Okay, okay. I _get_ it,” he hangs his head. “That doesn’t count. Go change and we will do it properly this time.”

You smile and skip into the back, dumping your apron and snatching your bag as you head to the bathroom. The blacks come off quick, and you carefully set them aside as you pull out your dark wash jeans. You shimmy them on quickly, not wanting to stay in contact with the cold tile floor for long . As soon as they’re buttoned, you slide in your embroidered belt and pull your favorite sweater over your head. With just a few adjustments and a touch up for the hair and makeup, you’re set to go.

You emerge to find Dave leaning over the counter, looking down at his phone. You take a mental snapshot in your head, wanting to remember just how perfectly those jeans look on his body.

After admiring him long enough and checking that everything was at least _decently_ cleaned up, it only takes a few moments to lock up the shop, but as soon as the lock clicks into place, you turn and throw your arms around Dave’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. 

He’s taken by surprise, but recovers quickly, hands coming to hold you steady. You sigh against his lips as you pull apart and smile. “Can’t tell you how much I wanted to do that all night.” 

“To me?”

“No, to the other guy in there,” you giggle as he laces your hands together and he grins down at you.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you. He had a nice manbun. That’s what you call those right? Manbun?”

“Dave, never ever say that word again,” he chuckles as he leans forward and brushes your hair from your face. You can feel his breath on your lips, and your breath hitches in your throat as you think of the kiss from the night before. 

“Alright, deal,” he chuckles as his fingers linger on your cheek. “You have a place in mind for tonight?”

“Yeah, I did, it’s just kind of far. And I don’t want to wait around for anything.”

“Well, I’m not in a rush.”

“I know, it’s just I sort of am.”

“Oh, another date?”

“Ha, yeah, a couple, actually,” you smirk at him as you playfully shove his arm. When he looks a bit dejected you don’t hesitate in grabbing his face with both your hands. “No, Dave, I actually just really like dessert. That’s all.”

Then you kiss him. You really kiss him. 

You’re still smiling when you do it, holding his mouth to yours, and he’s not much better, smirking into it, but he has the presence of mind to take a hand to the small of your back and pull you closer, tilting his head down and forcing you to lean back as you pull his face down to yours. The first kiss is quick, pressing into each other before lips pull back into smiles, elated that this is…a thing now. You can kiss him. In public, in private, in the street or the shop, or the quiet of his car. His apartment.

The thought spurns you forward again, and he matches your intensity, kissing you until your stomach swims with excitement, with desire. You tilt your head, and he follows, switching so his nose presses into your other cheek. His lips move smoothly against yours, adjusting when you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You don’t want to part, drunk already on the feel of him against you. You wouldn’t let him slip away from you this time. He deepens the kiss, your neck tilting further back, and he takes advantage. You let your lips part and his tongue slips in to touch yours.

You sigh, feel his hands tighten on you, crushing you to him as the kiss turns feverish. It’s tongue and lips and soft sounds, hands gripping tight and his hair under your fingers, his chest molded to yours, your back arched into him, and he doesn’t stop kissing you, returning everything you give to him. You want him like this more often, unashamed and almost _giddy_ as he refuses to part his lips from yours.

You can feel your heart pound in your chest, and he slants his mouth over yours, hungrily kissing you, and your tongue dips into his mouth. You like the way he feels against you, the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body, the press of his hips in—oh.

A startled giggle escapes you, and you smile too widely to kiss him properly. Even still, his lips don’t move far from yours, and when you bother to open your eyes, he’s smiling just as much as you are.

“Do...do you need to calm down?” You bite your lip. You can feel the evidence of the excitement pressing into your leg. And you really can’t help the absolute giddiness you feel as you giggle into his shoulder.

“My apartment, it isn’t far,” he sounds breathless as he pulls away from you. 

“I thought it was in Williamsburg?”

“Yeah?”

“Right,” you laugh as you remember the convenience of not having to walk or use public transport everywhere you go. You lean into his chest and feel his breath on your ear as you finish your sentence tucked safety into him. “You own a car. You know? Maybe I’ll finally have to see what owning one of those is all about now that I’m totally loaded.”

“Oh yeah?” He grins as you pull back and smile at him.

“I will have you know, Mr. York, that I opened a savings account the other day.” His hand slides down your side and captures your own. You grasp it and begin to casually scroll down the sidewalk hand in hand. 

“And what else are you going to do now that you are totally loaded?” 

You walk slow, stopping a few times to just stop and talk, wanting to be able to fully absorb each other's presence. You realize that whatever big romantic plan you had for this evening can go ahead and get tossed out the window. Dave just wasn’t like any other guy you had dated before, and you were glad he wasn’t. 

You make the executive decision that you won’t make it to the place you originally planned, but you happen to know a great little place around the corner. You walk a few blocks in easy conversation. When you stop in front of a greasy, hole-in-the-wall, ready-to-eat, Chinese place Dave looks at you with a question in his eye.

“I can...take us somewhere that looks less questionable.”

“Yeah,” you turn and wink at him. “You can.” 

You can’t properly communicate with the servers, but that’s how you know the place is authentic. And good. You know the drill, hold up two fingers and point to what looks freshest, what hasn’t been sitting on the warmers for too long. You can feel Dave start to protest but you just grab his hand and squeeze it tightly. “Trust me,” you whisper. 

When you hold out your hand to him expectantly, he reaches into his back pocket and grabs his wallet before placing a $20 in your palm. You look surprised, glancing between him and the bill in your hand, but before he rethinks his move, you hand it to the cashier. Dave realizes his mistake when he sees the amount of change the man hands you. He’s about to reach for it, but you just tilt your hand and drop it all into the tip jar with a grin. This earns you loud praises behind the counter and a flabbergasted look from Dave. 

“If we went to a restaurant, with chairs and tables, then we would have somewhere to sit,” Dave remarks as you look around the sidewalk with your bag of food. 

“Yeah but where’s the fun in that David?” 

There’s a bench a little way up, and you are in luck because the streetlight keeps it well lit and there is no one lounging or sleeping on it. You lead the way down the sidewalk and plop yourself onto the bench pulling out the first container, then the second, and setting it up so it resembles a picnic style. Dave stands above with a giant grin on his face.

“This might be the strangest date I’ve ever been on.”

“Really, Dave?” You pop a piece of orange chicken in your mouth as he sits down next to you taking the fork you offer him. “We gonna discuss this again? Cause I think I may have a weirder first date story…”

“Oh yeah? Should I be flattered that I make the top of that list?”

You consider this.

“Actually, in a way, yeah. There have been some real doozies. One time a guy got a speeding ticket, and then he told me he was so stressed out about it he did a line of coke. Right there in the car!”

“Wait... that really happened to you? And our first date is still the worst one?”

“Dave…..I thought you were going to murder me, remember?” You wave your fork at his face. 

“Oh, yeah, right. That’s pretty bad too.”

You both look at each other and then both of you burst out laughing. You can’t even remember the last time you laughed as hard as you do at that moment. But you actually lean over and clutch your stomach as you double over, choking on your last bite. You both sit there for a moment as you try and regain your breath. Finally Dave clears his throat and turns his body so you are both facing each other. 

“You mentioned your family, last night, that you were due for a visit…”

“David,” you groan. “We were having such a nice time.”

"You don't like your family?" 

“No, I do. I just...it's complicated, I guess.” 

“Yeah?”

“They just - we are different people,” you sigh. “We get along alright, but we disagree on stuff, and they don’t seem to get it. But it's okay, it's better this way I think.”

“Families are like that aren't they?”

“What about you? Do you have any family around here?”

“Do you? I thought you said they were in Southern California?” 

You note that he once again dodges a personal and direct question, but you choose to ignore it again. You tell him about your family, which turns into a conversation about California. Which turns into a conversation about the ocean. It turns out Dave grew up near the ocean too, and he and you swap a few fond memories of beach trips. When you mention how much the memories of the trips you took with your dad as a little girl to a cabin by the beach mean to you, you notice Dave grow unusually quiet. He turns away from you, and after a moment abruptly stands. 

“I believe I mentioned needing your help back at my place?”

“Wow. That might actually be the most unsubtle way a man has ever asked me back to their place. Like ever.”

“Well, I like to be number one.”

He reaches out his hand, you smile as you take it and he helps you up off the bench. You toss your trash into the nearest garbage can. You loop your arm through his and lean on his shoulder. It was becoming dangerous how nice it felt to walk hand and hand with Dave, how much you actually enjoyed just strolling along in comfortable silence with him. 

You make it to his car and he opens the door for you, again such a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. He asks you to point out places you like on the drive back, so he will know where to visit next. You point out some of your favorite restaurants, a local book shop you love, a few other coffee shops you enjoy, though Dave remarks he doesn’t think he will need to visit another one anytime soon. After all, he already found a barista he’s fond of at the first shop he stopped in. You giggle, and he pulls your hand up to his lips, brushes them lightly over the back of your hand. 

When Dave stops and turns the car into a small garage you are surprised when it's right on the water. You can see the Williamsburg bridge right there. Clear as day. Dave had undersold this place. Two stories, and you can see it had a rooftop patio. 

Dave flicks off the car and turns, looking at you shyly, “I haven't exactly brought anyone else here before, so be gentle.”

“I will try not to make fun of your gorgeous bachelor pad too much Dave,” you nudge him in the ribs but make a mental note to not be harsh on the man who is clearly letting you into a part of his life and allowing himself to be vulnerable with you. To be mean to him in his own home would be cruel, you remind yourself. 

He opens the door into the small entryway. It’s chilly as you step into the living room. Dave wasn’t lying when he said it was sparse.

All there is a couch, a coffee table, and a TV. But TV is placed directly on the ground, making the whole room look pathetically large. The far wall is almost floor to ceiling windows, and though you can see the neighboring building, it’s angled so the dazzling lights of the skyline are still visible. It’s too dark outside now to make out much else, and you turn your attention to the rest of the interior. 

A long kitchen island with white marble countertop is to your right, and you take note of an old coffee maker and basic toaster sitting on the counter with the stainless steel appliances. Although his fridge is massive, you have a growing suspicion that it’s near empty. A small dining table sits beyond that, four chairs around it, and a few papers scattered on top of it.

“I haven’t really had a ton of time to really settle in yet,” you note the embarrassment in his voice again. 

All the walls are bare, nothing decorating any surface besides a remote or practical appliances. The soft grey of walls are easy on the eyes though, and despite a lack of color, it does look very sleek.

“It’s okay! Really,” you rest a hand on his upper arm as you tentatively walk in a little further looking around more. “Moving’s rough. You always forget how much stuff you have until you’re throwing it all in boxes. Trust me, every time my lease is up - ugh, actually I don’t want to think about it.”

It looks modern, and clean, and you think maybe he doesn’t spend much time here in the first place. There are no pillows or blankets on the couch, and you make a mental note for that to be the first thing you change. The place could use some color.

You note a door leading back further into the place between the living area and the kitchen, and a staircase leading up near the dining room. Dave notices your stare.

“The bedrooms are up there. Did you want anything to drink? I did buy some wine.”

“Sure that sounds good,” you nod politely. Dave pulls out a pretty bottle of red and two glasses, letting you get a peek inside his cabinets. He at least seemed to have enough dishes for four, and curiosity gets the better of you. “Would it be alright if I looked upstairs? So far the place is gorgeous.”

He glances up at you as he pours the wine, seeming pleased you weren’t insulting the place. 

“Oh well, um, I could show you up there sure. But there still isn’t much to look at.”

You grin. “If you want my help decorating, Dave, I gotta know what I’m working with.”

He huffs, nodding his head as he sets down the wine, and then steps up with you to the stairs. The hall is long, and maybe could use a side table or something, a painting over there, oh! Or a really long rug.

“That’s my room there,” he points to the door at the end, “and these two are guest rooms.”

You nod, immediately wanting to snoop through his room, but you figure to wait on that for a bit. Instead, you peek into the third bedroom, closest to you. It's simple with two twin bunk beds stacked on the back wall and a small pink dresser. It looks a little sad with no toys or clothes that would usually be scattered around a child's bedroom. But there doesn't appear to be any signs that the room had been used recently. You feel Dave reach from behind you and tug the door closed.

“Expecting company?” You quip.

“You aren't the only one with family,” he replies coolly, and his hands don't leave your hips as he gently guides you back down to the living area where soft music plays. Not wanting to push him, you try not to dwell on the room or his words, deciding that if you trusted him before, you can do it again.

You step through the dining room, and he passes you to go back to where he left the glasses. He offers you a glass of wine when he gets back to the counter, and you take it from him with a smile. You sip it as you make your way over to this couch and sit. 

He follows, looking at you for a moment with a hand in his pocket as if he is wondering if there is something else he should offer. You just pat the cushion next to you and he shuffles over before sitting down, though far enough away you can’t touch him without putting in an effort.

It feels awkward sitting next to each other. You take a giant gulp of your wine desperate for it to help work off these nerves. You didn’t want to be the one to make the first move here in his apartment, surely he would, you reason. You scoot a little closer trying to give him a clue that it would be totally okay if he touched you again.

More than okay, you would _really, really_ enjoy it if he touched you again. 

You can tell he is nervous, you’re nervous too. You can see him wipe his hand on the front of his pants, and you nervously tap your foot along to the sound of the music. He reaches around you and pulls himself a little closer. He doesn’t say anything as he takes another sip of his drink, and you take another gulp of wine topping it off. 

“More?”

You turn, shaking your head and smiling politely. He sets down his glass beside yours and looks down at you awkwardly. You are about to say something stupid, but you feel his hand come up and cup the side of your face with a gentle expression before asking, “Would it be alright if I kissed you again?”

“Oh god, yes please.” 

He pulls you in for a kiss and it starts slow. You take your time to really enjoy your time kissing him. This time you weren’t rushed or encumbered by space. You let your hands explore as you run them gently up and along his arms, into his hair where you give a tug, and he moans into your mouth. You giggle at the sound, wanting to see what other sinful noises you can pry from his lips.

You pull away, inhaling and admiring the sight of the breathless, eager man next to you. Without saying a word, you nudge him with your hands, pushing him so he leans back on the couch, and you seat yourself on top of him with a smile. He looks at you with nothing but an expression of care and admiration as his hands make their way up along the back of your calves to your thighs, feeling the fabric of your pants and grabbing a handful of your ass with a groan. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

You can’t help but bite your lip as you wiggle yourself on top of him before he hisses and grabs your ass and to still your movements. You look down at him innocently as you trace the buttons of his shirt, undoing the first few.

Your fingertips trace gently over the skin of his chest, exploring the area exposed by the unbuttoned shirt. You bring your lips to his in a teasing kiss, barely a brush of lips, not nearly enough to satisfy him, but at a distance, he’d be forced to sit up to reach you. You nuzzle his jaw and kiss along his neck as your hands roam. You want to feel more of him now that you have him here, now that you have this chance. You won't deny yourself any longer, and it doesn’t help how Dave responds to your every touch, the way he greedily grabs at you too, every bit as interested in you as you are him.

His hands still stroke on their path along your body, from your shoulders back down to your hips, taking count of every curve and every inch of you that he can. You want to pull the sweater you wear up and over your head, warmed by his touch and the feel of his body under yours. But you refuse to pull your lips from his or from his body. His chest rises and falls under your hands, breathing heavily as he pants into your mouth. Settled firmly in his lap, you squirm at his touch, move your hips closer to his. 

You like how desperately he kisses you, how he licks into your mouth. You feel like a teenager again, giddy and needy and much too excited to be able to explore someone like this. His soft lips feel so nice against yours, and you like the way he sighs when you moan. You want to taste more of him, run your tongue on more of his body, so when he tries to take one of your lips between his teeth, you pull away quickly, smiling cheekily as he practically growls at you. 

You lean forward again, angling your head so you giggle into his neck before kissing under his jaw. He groans out your name and encouraged by it, you roll your hips into his. You slide your hands up from his chest, up his neck, and to the back of his head. You pull his head back by his hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands and tugging just as you bite at a soft spot at his throat, sucking harshly. You reward his moan with another roll of your hips, grinding down on him to relieve the pressure building in you just as much as in him. You want to leave a mark, make a trail of hickeys that disappear under his shirt, but you find you can't stay in one place for this long. You kiss and suck and lick and bite without a care what you do to him. You wanted to find what makes him moan and with each one you pull from his throat, you grind on him again.

You find a rhythm as you move in his lap, his hands brushing back your hair and pressing against your lower back to keep you to him. He follows your movements, lips searching for any part of you he can find, but you’ve tucked yourself under his chin, kissing along his throat until you get to the indentation between his collarbones. You remember the dance you shared, the way he had his unbuttoned shirt left the column of his throat exposed for you to admire until you imagined tasting every dip of his skin. 

So it's what you do now, licking into the hollow of his throat, hands coming up to quickly unbutton the rest of his shirt and pushing it back to his shoulders, fully exposing his chest and abdomen. You brace your hands on his chest, mouth moving down to bite a new mark. You can see his head hang down to watch you, sighing as you move down his body, and his hands squeeze at your waist. He’s getting soft from your kisses, you think, and you curve your fingers, nails biting into his muscle before you start to drag them down to the soft flesh of his stomach.

The sound he makes, God, the sound he makes goes straight to your core, and your mouth drops open as you stare up at him. It’s a mix between a gasp and a cry of surprise, but when you keep touching him, it melts into one of the filthiest moans you’ve ever heard from a man. 

He almost looks embarrassed when he looks down at you again, but you won’t have any of that. No, you’ll do anything to make him do it again. You surge forward, taking one of his nipples into your mouth and swirling your tongue. He barely has time to make a strangled sound of protest which is so cute, you don’t even think, you slide your tongue down the rest of his body, a hand coming to cup the hard bulge in between both of you before you remove your legs from around him and kneel. 

This man, older than you with a three-freaking bedroom condo and a job working for the mob, was making sounds like he’d never had someone kiss him like this before. His legs spread easily when you press a hand to his knee and he sits up straighter when he seems to realize what you’re doing. Biting your lip doesn’t stop the smile that spreads on your face, and your hands fly to the belt around his waist, deftly pushing the leather through and you’ve nearly got it through the buckle before his hands fall to yours, and you look up to meet his wide eyes.

“You don’t have to….really….”

“No I don’t,” you say, pressing your hand to him again and feeling just how hard he's gotten. “But what else are you going to do about your little problem?”

He shifts impatiently under your touch, and your smile wickedly at the power you seem to have over him right now. His hands start to press harder over yours, giving him more friction when he moves his hips. Not wanting him to distract you anymore, you shove his hands off to finally unfasten his belt, quickly pop open the button of his jeans, and can't pull down his zipper fast enough. 

Despite his initial hesitation, Dave can’t seem to wait now. He takes hold of his waistband himself, tugging down both his pants and his briefs and you reach to help him. You take over, taking advantage of how he lifts his hips to pull them down his thighs and then down to his ankles. Your eyes don’t turn away from his exposed length, and you watch how it stands up against his belly, hard and so fucking tempting. His hand comes to wrap around his cock, and you can see just how desperate he’s getting, and you’ve barely even touched him. You release your hold on his jeans, hands sliding up his shins and over the curve of his knees before tightly gripping his thighs. His hair is coarse under your palms as you get closer to his hips, and you finally look up to his face when you reach him. 

You’re fast to tear his hand away before you press your own hand against him, rubbing him just to watch his reaction. He bucks toward you, bare chest heaving with the touch of your hand. He’s trying to stay quiet and you’re aren’t having any of it. 

You bring yourself forward into his lap, your other hand finding his back and trying to push his hips closer to you. He’s throbbing under your hand already, hot and needy, and, fuck, he’s impressive. Your mouth waters just at the sight, the thought of tasting him and suddenly you’re doing it, ducking your head to lick from the base of his cock, following up a vein you felt with your thumb and now with your tongue before reaching his tip. 

You take him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around his head, already soaking him with your spit. You do nothing but lick and suck at his tip, hand wrapping around his length as you take your time. You wanted to taste him, to fuck him with your mouth as long as you wanted, but you can hear him already. He’s groaning above you, and you feel pride at breaking him so easily. When you pull your mouth from him just to lick at his head, tasting his precum, you know he isn’t going to last long. So you might as well make this fun.

You pump him slowly with one hand and bring your other hand from around his back to fondle his balls while you look up at him, resting your head on his thigh. You smile innocently, and the man practically whines. He’s gaping down at you, looking like he’s never seen you before. Or maybe it's that he can’t believe you’re actually there, real, in front of him and doing this. You enjoy the sight for a moment more, still teasing him with your touch, feeling the velvety soft skin of his cock, the hard muscle underneath, the bulging vein along his length. God, he’s so hot, shirt pushed open, pants around his ankles. It’s not how you ever get to see him, and as much as you want to take the moment to remember him like this, you really just want his fucking cock back in your mouth.

You come forward without warning, bringing him back to your mouth and taking him as deep as you can go. His strangled groan is enough to make you grow wet, but it’s his shout of “Fuck!” followed by your name that makes you moan around him. 

You pull back until you hold just his head between your lips, give a gentle suck, and sink back down again, taking him even deeper. His hands immediately come to hold the back of your head, not guiding you yet, but take your hair in a fist. You let him and get used to the feel of him in your mouth, flattening your tongue on his length and feel every ridge of his cock, taste the salt of his skin. You hollow your cheeks when he hits the back of your mouth, suck harder as you move back up to quickly swirl your tongue at his tip before taking him in again. His hands tighten their grip, holding your hair almost painfully so. 

You quickly find your rhythm despite it, bobbing your head faster now, coming up and down again and again until his hands that hold your head practically push and pull you up and down on his cock himself. You don’t think he is even aware he is doing it, feeling the trembling of his thighs under your own hands before you tightly grip his base again, fingers reaching to gently play with his sack. You continue to fuck him hard with your lips and tongue and wet, hot mouth, unable to stop the low whine you make when you press your tongue around his girth. 

When you pull up to take a breath you suckle his tip and look up at him with doe eyes. From his tense muscles you already know he’s close, but looking up at him is something else. His glassy eyes stare down at you with possibly the strongest gaze of affection you’ve ever seen. It’s amusing--the draw of his eyebrows, the slight gape of his mouth. You like having him like this, you think, and plunge back down onto him until he reaches your throat. You’ll do it again and again, you’ll fucking _gag_ on his cock, you don’t care. Your pace speeds up faster than he moved you before, taking him deep. He squirms while he’s in your mouth, and you like the way he swears with abandon.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking - ” he gasps and you nearly expect him to come right then. “You’re fucking, _fuck_ \- ”

You twist your tongue around him as you bob on his cock, filthy sounds escaping you as your spit and his precum drip down his hard length and onto his balls.

“I’m-” his voice is deep, raspy, and you shiver when he pulls harder at your hair, trying to pull you off of him. “Fuck I’m go - fuck, f _uck_ , off - ”

He gasps when you push yourself back on him, not slowing in your pace, not relenting when you take him in your throat and swallow. His grip pulls tight at your scalp but you ignore it, nuzzling your face down and he shudders.

“ _Fuck_!”

He comes with your name in his mouth, and you feel warm ropes of his cum hit the back of your throat, and you make sure to swallow down every drop he gives you. He shouts your name again, and then a third time, hands fighting between pulling you away and holding you there. 

You move slowly on him, still licking and drinking him down to make sure you clean him up. He slumps on the couch, head falling back when you suck at his tip, coming off with a pop. A muscle twitches in his abdomen at the action, and you still kneel for him, holding his now softening cock to your lips as you wait for him to recover. His head eventually lifts, and he looks at you as he did before, but with ten times the emotion. He looks stunned, he looks _fucked_ , but he also looks a little bit in love. You smile and release your hold on him, hands going to his abdomen as you crawl up from the floor to straddle his lap again, letting your hands slide up to his chest and shoulders.

“You…”

You smile at the breathless way he sounds, swiping a hand across your mouth before you lean forward and kiss him.

He’s slow to respond, but he does, languidly moving his lips against yours, hand sliding to cradle the back of your neck. It's soft and warm, full of tenderness and something else that bubbles up in your chest when his arm comes around to hold you close. His lips gently part with yours, and you touch your tongue to his, savoring the intimacy of the moment. He feels nice under you, his touch somehow both grounding and freeing, and when your thoughts wander to how he must look, pants still at his ankles, shirt open, and hair mussed, you feel comfortable enough to laugh into his mouth, even as he sighs with lingering pleasure.

“You...you are amazing. And I think,” he breathes out a laugh, “I think I may like you a little too much,” he finally whispers against your lips, sounding completely awestruck, and you just laugh softly at his confession. “Fuck, I really, really like you.” 

“Well, I guess I’m glad I gave you that a second chance, Mr. York.” 

Neither of you makes much of an effort to move as you lazily kiss him, allowing his hands to explore your body as they roam freely, gripping and squeezing along the way. You hear the tiny sounds Dave makes as you run your hands over his chest, down onto his stomach, and you wonder how long this man has been neglected to have been touched like this. You couldn’t have that. Not now that you’ve tasted him. You would never let him be neglected again, not as long as you were around. 

“I don’t normally, uh - well, it’s not that _I don’t_ \- ”

“Do this type of thing?” You finish the thought for him because it’s pretty clear to you now that he might act suave and cool, but he isn’t nearly as experienced as you had originally thought. There was more to him, and from the way this night was going you were looking forward to finding out what more looked like when it came to Dave York. 

“Yeah, ha, was it obvious - am I that…bad?” He scratched the back of his head, looking shy and embarrassed. You don’t reply with words but instead, pull yourself down on him a little more and kiss him passionately, running your tongue along his bottom lip. He surprises you when you try to pull away with a soft tug as he bites your bottom lip, pulling you back in to finish the kiss. 

“Did I give you the impression I didn't enjoy myself?” You laugh as you push yourself off his lap. You adjust yourself and your clothes so that you don’t look like you just had a cock stuffed down your throat. Dave gets up and pulls his pants back over his hips, but leaves his shirt unbuttoned and open, and you bite your lip at the view. 

“I don’t suppose it's normal to ask you to stay?”

“It would be kind of weird not to actually, Dave. I mean I did just suck you off. Speaking of which, would you mind if I used your bathroom?”

“Oh god, fuck, yes, sorry.”

Dave looks embarrassed as soon as he realizes that he hadn’t thought of your comfort. He shows you to the bathroom and politely closes the door to give you some privacy. You can hear him in the room shuffling around as you gaze into the mirror. Your hair is a mess, your lips are still a bit puffy, but your eyes are bright - the reflection staring back at you looks happy, content….loved. 

No, not that word. Not even close to that word. You were just….horny. Yeah. That was it. You were just horny. You need to change this dangerous change of thought so you reach for the mouthwash. 

“If I were to stay, what would we be doing?” you shout through the door.

“Wanna watch a movie? I think I have HBO now.”

You spit out the mouthwash and try and tame your wild hair before you swing the door open. 

“Damn, this place really has everything. I think my schedule has cleared up for the evening. Let’s see what’s on.”

“Your other dates cancel?”

“No, the first one just had a very happy ending,” you wink at Dave, and he laughs easily.

You make your way back to the living room and sit back down on the couch. You glance around at the sparsely decorated apartment, it was so nice here, you actually loved the look of the condo. And the location was insane. You can’t imagine what it must’ve cost. Dave walks back over offering you a glass of water, a beer in his hand. 

“I have more beer, but I remember you mentioned you didn’t like IPAs. That’s all I have,” he shrugs as he sits down next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. 

“You…remember me saying that?”

“Yeah?” he looks at you quizzically. “You mentioned it when we were texting one time, I think. While I was out of town.”

First, you are a little shocked by this. Then suddenly you’re touched. He remembered such a small insignificant detail about you, yet you can’t think of the last time you’d gone on a date with a man and he remembered the tiny things about you. You look up at Dave and he gazes down at you with a goofy grin. 

“You’re…really special David York. I’m glad we did this second first date.”

“I think you’re not so bad yourself,” he leans down and kisses you softly. It’s a gentle kiss, but you both linger there for a moment as you look into his eyes. Finally he breaks eye contact and looks to the TV. “Okay, so what kind of movies _do_ you like? I get you like a bad movie ironically, but maybe we could watch something good unironically?”

Eventually, the two of you settle on a bad movie that you insist Dave will really like - it has to do with a hitman getting revenge on the mob after they murder his dog. Dave spends the first part of the movie whispering inaccuracies, things he would’ve done differently, and all the reasons he doesn’t like the movie. It might be the most honest he’s been with you, and it’s partly because your eyes flutter between open and closed. 

You are on the cusp of sleep within the first few minutes of the movie, and then you can’t remember much, because you are tucked into the safety of Dave’s chest, and your eyes just want to stay closed. Occasionally, you wake enough to that he is speaking softly in your ear, and you nestle yourself closer into the crook of his neck, holding on to the warmth of his chest, feeling safe and, for the first time in a long while, complete. 

⁌♡⁍


End file.
